Twisted
by SoulMalady
Summary: Harry ventured towards the glass cabinet to look at his reflection. He appeared older. He touched the lines on his forehead, trying to smooth it out. His jet-black hair was much shorter and he wore glasses. He examined his hands. So many scars… He spun around to take another deep breath. He was going to start screaming now.
1. The One With Santa Clause

**Preface**

Parallel universe story! It's going to be a fun one! No drama, just lots of fluff and laughs. I kind of got the idea from two stories I've already written, _Motorcycle_ and _Don't Touch Me._

So, in the parallel universe, Voldemort was _killed_ by the rebounding Killing Curse he shot at Harry Potter all those years ago. No horcruxes or the like. He is properly dead and Harry can live his life like any 'normal' celebrity child would.

Here we go! Starting off in that parallel universe in three…

Two…

One…

* * *

"You _what_?" Severus asked, his words as tepid as his demeanor. His pale fingers lingered against his robe, paused in place, and his bloodshot eyes remained steady, peering at the headmaster.

"Have you not wished to prove your loyalty, Severus?" Albus murmured. He had hardly looked up at the Potions Master since his arrival. His gaze instead was half-hidden behind his spectacles. This man was _clearly_ keeping away important secrets that could easily be given away.

Severus inhaled slowly as he tried to understand the situation and make out what Albus was requesting him to do. "You… _do_ realize that I used to be a Death Eater, don't you?" He was mocking, of course, because he couldn't believe _any_ man on the planet could have just said those ill-chosen words just twenty seconds ago. "You _know_ this." He leaned forward. "You know what I feel about her choices. You know what I think of _him_. Why do you ask me to do this?" he inquired with great curiosity. "Because of what I have told you about Lily?"

"Yes," Albus sighed. He suddenly looked very tired. "The simple answer is yes."

"I have no sympathy for this… this boy." Severus spat out the last word with as much intensity and spite as he would spit out the name of his arch nemesis from over a decade ago. "I was in the Dark Lord's inner circle!" he boomed. He stood up as his muscles started tensing one after the other, aching as they clenched in defense. "I am a Death Eater, Albus. Now tell me what you expect me to do."

"I've made a mistake," Albus admitted. He finally looked up at Severus. "I have made a mistake and I implore you to rectify it."

"What have you done?"

"Harry… He isn't safe."

Severus barked in sordid amusement, his greasy hair dancing against his cheeks as he lifted his head up slightly. Dumbledore had finally gone insane. "Then why don't _you_ take him in?" he taunted. "He is _your_ charge."

"I cannot," Albus said under his breath. His fingers were weaving into the soft strands of his beard. "Not yet. I need some time to make arrangements. You know I have no other choice. I trust him with no one. Not even his family. I have made a grave mistake."

Severus slammed his hands on the table vehemently, all traces of laughter vanishing in an instant. "What have you _done_?" he hissed.

"They are not capable of giving him love. His own family is unable to give him anything but misery and loneliness," Albus lamented as he sat back against the chair. He pulled his hand away and reached forward to pick up a flimsy piece of lined paper off his desk. It seemed to have been folded and read many times by the way the creases nearly caused it to rip apart. He held it out to Severus, who snatched it with a disgruntled growl. There were faint pencil marks on it, shaky and hardly legible. He had to move towards the candelabra to read it.

_Dear Santa,_

_When you come over this year can I go away with you? I do not want presents. I do not like this house so I want to live with you. I will be __very__ quiet because I am __very__ good at being quiet. I will help mend the toys and I can cook food for all the elves._

_Just get me out of this stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid house. It hurts too much. I don't like anyone in it and everyone in it hates me. Please._

_Harry_

Severus hadn't realized that he was holding his breath until he released it in one loud gush. He glanced over his shoulder at the headmaster who had been watching him the entire time. "Because of _this_?" he asked blandly. He held up the letter in contempt. "He doesn't like his time outs, so you want me to take him in?"

"No one can know where he is. Not yet."

"Isn't that convenient?"

"The house has been experiencing enormous spurts of uncontrolled magic, Severus. If this continues, there is no telling what the child will do to escape his family. He could hurt himself. Just until school begins after winter break, that's all I need. He needs to be housed in a location he feels safe in and I trust you to provide him with such an environment. Once you return to school, he will live _here_. Only for a fortnight. I know what I ask of you is beyond com-"

"Then don't ask me!"

Albus tilted his head to the side and pressed his fingers to his temple to ward off the dull ache behind his eyes.

* * *

Snow packed along the sides of the road and ice slicked the pavement on the night Harry Potter arrived at Spinner's End, bundled in a jacket three sizes too big, worn boots, ratty mittens and a threadbare scarf. All of those were his, passed down from lovely Dudley Dursley. Held in Harry's hands was a small duffle bag that stored the rest of his meager possessions he had packed up from the cupboard under the stairs. And now he stood in front of an ordinary looking door of an ordinary looking house that stood on an ordinary looking street, still ogling at the _extraordinary_ man that stood beside him.

When the old man with the beard and purple suit had come to collect him from Privet Drive, Harry had no qualms. He didn't question anything. He didn't even say goodbye. He packed his things and walked out without a word, in awe of the man who had made his uncle and aunt cower in fright.

Now here he was, three days before Christmas.

"You don't have to pretend to be Santa Clause," he said quietly. "He's not real."

Albus smiled down at the little boy, his blue eyes dancing with cheer. "I rather like pretending to be him," he responded before knocking three times.

Harry started when the door opened abruptly. Then he took a step back when he saw the man behind it. He was so very pale and his black hair framed his face unflatteringly, making ominous shadows appear against his pasty cheeks. His eyes were dark and sunken, and his brows were knitted together into what could only be a permanent frown. He wore the strangest clothes too, although not quite as strange as pretend Santa.

Severus directed a disgusted glare towards the boy and then dismissed him entirely to look up at Dumbledore, to whom he directed an even fiercer scowl.

"Merry Christmas, Severus," Albus murmured as he nudged Harry forward into the foyer and closed the door between them.

Harry continued to stare at the thin man. Severus clicked his tongue in exasperation and walked away. He had left his potion brewing.

Harry took the time alone to survey his surroundings. He understood why he was there. He was to live with this man now. He looked around the cramped and dark corridor. Unlike his old place, this house looked a bit foreboding and was too quiet. The walls were bare. He couldn't make out the color without light. He felt around for a light switch, but found nothing. He shrugged to himself before plopping down on the ground and struggling to get his large boots off of his cold feet. The taxi ride to the house had been silent. Now this exchange had been silent too. It was all so mysterious.

He shuffled down to the first entryway that had light, finding himself in the living room. It was plain with two grey couches, a fireplace on one end, two chairs by the window and a coffee table with nothing on it. Through the living room he made his way into the kitchen where, once again, there was almost nothing.

Not even a fridge or a stove.

Harry worried his lip. How was he supposed to eat? _What_ was he supposed to eat? He shook his head to get rid of his trepidation and scurried out of there. On the other side of the hallway was another door, this one closed. He opened it and shivered when he heard that frightening creak he had heard all too often in movies. The door had stairs behind them, going down. Harry was _never_ going down there if he could help it.

Unfortunately, that was exactly where the man in the black dress had gone.

Harry kept walking down the hallway that held four more doors, two on each side. This house was very weird. Just one corridor with doors on either end. He soon figured out that two of those doors led into bedrooms, one of them obviously his. He barely hid his excitement as he set his bag atop his fluffy bed and then ran to the window to look out. He had his own window… Perfect. He stared out into the fence of his neighbor, but that was okay. It was still a window.

Opposite the two bedrooms were one bathroom and one _enormous _study. Harry was blown away by how massive the library was. He didn't quite understand how such a large room could exist in this tiny home. He knew better than to venture into the room uninvited, so he filled his hungry eyes with the sights.

Once he was in his room again, he looked around more intently. A soft flickering light shone from a lantern on his bedside. He also had a broad wardrobe, one chest of draws, a small table and a chair. The room was painted white and the floors were carpeted. It felt nice under his socked feet. The bed itself was just a twin, but that was incredibly large in Harry's eyes. He sat on it with some hesitance. Then he lowered himself onto his back and stared up at the white ceiling. It was strange being in bed with a light on. He wasn't used to it.

He fell asleep that way, his legs dangling over the edge and his hands clasped on his stomach.

Severus leaned against the doorjamb and watched the boy for many minutes, lost in his own thoughts. This was Harry Potter. This was Lily's son. He cringed. The boy looked nothing like Lily. He looked like a proper Potter instead. His teeth gritted in anger as memories started to surface. He carefully pushed them down by remembering his reasons for housing Potter's child. It was for Lily's sake. It was how he would atone for his wrongdoings. He would do right by _Lily's_ child. He was _Lily's_ child. Severus realized that he would have to keep reminding himself of that because, from that day on, all he would be seeing was the face of a bully who had tormented him for years too many.

_Lily's_ child.

He huffed as he pushed away from the doorjamb and walked to his own bedroom. He wasn't about to lose yet _another_ night over this kid. Not if he could help it.

* * *

Harry jerked awake with flailing arms, his stomach dropping as he fell. He whipped his head around the brightly lit bedroom in shock. He tried to remember furiously and everything came back to him before long. He sighed with relief. This was his room now.

His lips pulled up into an infrequent smile. _His_ room.

He fell back and flipped over onto his stomach, screaming into the mattress with glee. He squealed and laughed until he was crying and laughing some more. He wasn't at Privet Drive any longer. He would have kept going for hours too, if not for the sharp rap on the door to his bedroom. _His_ bedroom.

He scrambled off of the bed and rushed to the door to fling it open.

Severus staggered back when the boy rammed into his legs to hug him tight. He was struck dumb. He also nearly pushed Harry away, barely restraining himself in the nick of time. His arms dropped to his sides instead and he let the boy have his way for a few moments before clearing his throat.

Harry tipped his head up to look at Severus with a bright smile. "Thank you," he hummed. "I knew you'd take me away." He buried his face against Severus' stomach again.

"Goodness," Severus grumbled under his breath. "Don't touch me."

Harry froze, then his arms slackened. Severus relaxed when the boy stepped back quickly with his head down. This was a much better way to talk. Damn it, the lad even had that hopeless shock of black hair like James Potter. "Get dressed for breakfast," he said brusquely. "You are absolutely filthy." He spun around on his heel and stormed towards the kitchen.

"I can cook."

"I'd rather live," Severus drawled as he disappeared into the living room.

Harry twisted the hem of his shirt between his fingers. Was he supposed to take a bath now? He hurried to get to his bag out of which he pulled out clean underwear, worn pants and his best shirt. He wanted to impress the new nameless man. He also took his toothbrush out so he could clean his smelly teeth.

Severus was contemplating heinous murder when Harry walked in with damp hair. Potter seemed to have no sense of etiquette. "When I call you for breakfast," he seethed, "I expect you to be ready in no less than ten minutes, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Severus blinked.

Harry sat down in front of his plate while trying to be as quiet as possible. His glasses had a habit of slipping down his nose, so it was nestled at the tip as he tucked into breakfast, which consisted of eggs and toast. After snapping out of his reverie, Severus did the same, albeit while growling a few choice words under his breath. They ate in silence. The professor glanced at the child at intervals when the fork screeched against the plate or the cup thudded a bit loudly on the table. Harry ate in small, measured bites, obviously trying very hard to be on his best behavior. He looked no more than six.

Severus scoffed. A six year old would hardly write a letter of _that_ caliber. "How old are you?" he asked after placing his utensils down.

"Eight."

Three years until he would be studying at Hogwarts. Severus remembered those days bitterly. And now he was expected to make room in his life for the sake of this good-for-nothing _child_ who everyone revered like no other. Had it not been for Lily, Harry wouldn't even be alive. That was the _only_ reason Severus had agreed to care for a child that looked _nothing_ like her. He got up and gathered the dirty dishes. Then, pulling out his wand, he flicked them away to the kitchen.

He jumped when he heard a sharp squeak and crash. Harry had just toppled off his chair. "Don't you even have a modicum of manners in you?" the man snapped. "Get up."

"Wh-wh-wh-what's that?"

He looked down at his wand, then back at Harry who was gawking at him openly. He hadn't noticed those stark green eyes until then. "You don't know about magic?" he murmured in confusion. He was mesmerized by Lily's eyes. She had looked at him the same way when he showed her the things he could do with a wave of his hand. She had looked up at him with those same eyes, that same expression – a mixture of fear and delight.

"Magic?" Harry breathed. "Was that magic? Is that what magic is?"

"Yes," Severus said distantly. He stepped away in heady disorientation when Harry scrambled up onto his feet. "Haven't they talked to you about magic?" he asked. By the incredulous way Harry was staring at him, he could guess at the answer. "They've told you nothing?"

"About what?" Harry asked nervously. "They never tell me anything."

"But you must know about your mother," Severus rushed to say. "You must know how she died."

The boy blanched and withdrew physically. His small arms were folded against his stomach and his eyes drew to the floor. "A-an accident?" he mumbled. "They died in a car crash."

Severus pressed a hand to his mouth in defeat as he looked down at the child. Harry really didn't know anything. Petunia had kept him in the dark. What had she planned to do? Drive the magic out of him by never telling him? Pretend like Lily never happened? "And you believed them?" he couldn't help spitting out. Was this boy daft? "Are you daft?"

Harry staggered back in an attempt to get away. He shrieked when he was stopped forcibly and jerked forward instead. He struggled against Severus' bony grasp in vain and couldn't stop from being dragged into the living room. The professor didn't let go of him until he was deposited on one of the dusty grey couches. Harry pulled his knees up to his chest as he wailed, keeping his face hidden so Severus couldn't see his face.

"This is no time to cry," Severus snarled. "Now you are going to sit there and listen to everything I am about to say to you. No interruptions and no questions until the end, understood?"

"I'm sorry," Harry cried. "I-I'm sorry."

"I've seen the act before, Potter," Severus rebuked, grasping the back of the boy's collar and tugging it back to make him lift his head. "You may have fooled that old man, but it takes more than a few tears to fool me, understood?"

Harry nodded quickly and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes from behind his glasses as he shuddered. "I won't say anything," he sobbed. "I'm sorry. I won't."

Severus sat opposite Harry on the coffee table. "You are a wizard. You have magic in you, like your mother. She did not die in an accident and I do not know what kind of a simpleton would believe a lie of that sort when it's coming out of the Petunia's lying tongue. She was killed and you survived because of her death." He paused for effect, knowing that he had scared Harry out of his wits already. But he wanted to torture Potter's boy for a little while longer. "You must listen carefully to what I am about to say next," he added menacingly. "If you _ever_ squander away this precious existence of yours, you will _personally_ deal with me and I will make sure you feel more remorse than you will _ever_ be able to live with."

Harry wasn't crying anymore. He was too stunned.

"Now I will be your guardian. You thought your life with the Dursleys was hard? Be careful what you wish for. For the next two weeks, you will be under my care. You will wake up every morning at seven and finish your breakfast by eight thirty. I shall begrudgingly allow you to use my library afterwards and provide you with some schoolwork that you may do. No doubt you need to be taught everything from scratch. Lunch will be served at twelve. After, you may do what you like in the house, provided you make not a single peep. At two, you will continue with your reading. You will read all the pages I had assigned to you and you will keep a notebook in which you will write every single day for at least one hour detailing the concepts you have _hopefully_ managed to get inside your head. Dinner is at six and your curfew is nine. You are not to be seen or heard by anyone other that myself and a few people I will introduce you to. If, at any point in your stay, I find you unsatisfactory, rest assured, I will make it known and you shall be scrubbing the cauldrons until your hands are chaffed and your elbows are bruised. Under no petty circumstances are you to disobey me. Have I made myself clear?"

Harry swatted Severus on the cheek.


	2. The One With The Professor

Severus didn't understand at first even though his hard expression slackened. He had been ranting as per usual and then something…

"Did you just…" He trailed off.

Harry still sat huddled on the couch but the hand he had used to slap Severus hung by his side in a harmless manner. His face didn't betray his guiltiness. Instead, his emerald eyes were aflame. "You are being _very_ mean to me."

Severus sat back. He hadn't dreamt it. Harry Potter had just smacked his cheek and was now chiding him. "Pardon me?"

"I don't even know your name and you're already being mean to me," Harry repeated. "I don't like that."

"Did you just hit me?"

"I don't like it when rude people tell me what to do."

"Did you just hit me, Potter?"

"I haven't even _done_ anything yet and you're already yelling at me."

Severus pressed a hand to his cheek. "What the devil is the matter with you?" he exclaimed.

Without warning, Harry's lips curled up slyly and his eyes crinkled. "But I still like you, mister," he announced with a firm nod. "You didn't hit me back."

Severus pulled his arm back to do just the opposite, but Harry was faster. He ducked and hopped off the sofa, moving out of Severus' reach. His earlier passive demeanor had vanished entirely into _this_. Severus arched a brow in derision. He had a feeling Harry was a bit touched in the head. Either that or… "My name is Severus Snape. Call me Professor," he said.

"Okay, Professor. I'll get ready for my first lesson now. In the library?"

"Yes."

Harry ran out of the living room to get what little books he had out of his bag and then marched into the library, so incredibly energized and exhilarated about his first day at magic school.

He already knew he could do magic. He had done it loads of times already. He had been surprised by the professor because he thought _he_ was the only one who could float things. Evidently that was not the case. He wasn't alone. There were other people in the world who were freaks like him. That was comforting. He hadn't felt this excited since that time he got to go to the fair.

The library looked even more magnificent in daytime. Shelves were lined with many old books that had regal spines and gold lettering. There was a large table in the middle that already housed a few stacks of tomes, some small reading lamps and a few chairs. Harry hopped onto one of the chairs and set his books down into a neat pile. Then he stared out the large windows that looked out into the overgrown backyard. He couldn't wait to play in there. He hoped the professor would let him. No. He _knew_ his professor would let him. This man was _nothing_ like the Dursleys. He spoke to Harry like he was an actual person who mattered. That's all Harry had wanted for years. Even when he was scolded, he wanted to be scolded as Harry. Not as some _thing_ that had been dropped off of the doorstep. He was a real person, for heaven's sake.

He moved his arms to place them against the table, folded them and then rested his cheek against them. He was going to have fun with Professor. He just knew it.

When Severus swept into the library after composing himself, he found the boy in that position, head down on the table and legs swinging against the chair because they were too short to reach the ground. He cleared his throat to make his presence known. Harry quickly sat upright with his back straight and looked up at Severus hopefully.

"You _do_ realize that violence is unacceptable, don't you?" the professor started off by saying.

Harry frowned in confusion. He didn't understand what that meant.

"You aren't allowed to hit people," Severus clarified.

Now he was even more confused. "Why not?" he asked. "If they're being mean, it's okay."

"I assure you, Potter, it most certainly is not," Severus exhaled. What has this child been taught? "At least not so blatantly," he added for his own sake. He took the chair opposite Harry's. "Did you take such liberties with your family?"

Harry wrinkled his nose and sat back. He was dwarfed by the high seat that accentuated how truly small he really was. "They would hit me," he said slowly. "People at school would hit."

"Have you ever hit them back?"

Harry shrugged. "I'd want to. They'd hit me faster than I can hit them."

"And why did you hit me?"

"Because you… You were being mean to me," he tried to reason. "And I just wanted to see if you'd hit me back. You were being _really_ mean to me when I didn't do anything bad yet. You need to wait until I do something bad."

Everything this boy did and said made Severus want to rip his hair out. "From now on no hitting," he commanded. "Rule number one. No hitting _anyone_ for being _mean_. That is the most childish and absurd thing I have ever heard."

"Why?"

"A wizard does not lower himself to such paltry ways of settling disputes. You either _talk_ or you _duel_. You argue with intelligent words until you win. You use spells while keeping your wits about you until the better man comes out on top."

"I bet you always win, huh?" Harry said knowingly.

Severus raked a hand through his hair. "What did the Dursleys do to you?" he finally asked.

Harry had a _list _of grievances written right there in his notebook. He flipped it open and coughed once to indicate that he was about to begin. "They make me live in the cupboard under the stairs. Sometimes it's so dark in there. They make me cook breakfast for them. If I do it wrong, Aunt Petunia will box my ears. They won't let me watch the telly because it rots brains, but Dudley gets to watch it _all_ the time. I guess they're probably right about that because his brains are _really_ rotten." He looked up at Severus gravely to show him how serious that statement was. "They _never_ call me Harry," he continued. "They _never_ talk to me about my parents. They _never_ talk to me about anything unless they are being mean. Uncle Vernon smacks me about if I don't clean the house properly." He looked up again to break off into an anecdote. "This one time, I forgot to dust the mantle and he made me clean _all_ the dishes in the house. Even the ones that weren't dirty." Then he looked down at his book again to keep going. "Dudley is the meanest boy _ever_. He hits me and tells me that's part of the game. I don't know _any_ games that are like that. He lies a lot. I don't like liars. He is a big baby and I hate him." He flipped the page.

"That's enough for now," Severus said distantly.

"I'll tell you more tomorrow, Professor," Harry promised. He closed the book and pushed it away. "Teach me magic please."

This boy was going to be a handful…

After many hours of trying to gauge Harry's intelligence, Severus concluded that the kid was also about as smart as a rock. He would have to start from the beginning and that infuriated him to no end. He watched Harry out the backdoor of the house after lunch. The yard was damp from melted snow and filled with weeds, but Harry played in it like it was an incredible field. He would crouch on his haunches and stare at a dead insect for a minute and then jump up to run to the tree to see if he could climb it despite the fact that all the branches were an entire meter out of his reach. Then he would trip towards the fence and peer out into the deserted alleyway before hopping about because mud had gotten into his shoes. He was a very curious boy, this one. Not a moment of silence. It was a small wonder the Dursleys had to be so strict with him. He must have been running amuck in their home!

Severus harrumphed. He'd be damned if he let Potter run the place.

Later that evening, Harry sat by the window in the library with books all around him. They were all much too deep but he wanted to show the professor that he could read. The house had been quiet for over an hour as the boy jumped from one book to the next whenever he got bored. Severus was glad that Harry had been tuckered out by all that running around he did in the yard.

"Oh, hey! I'm in this book!"

He grimaced and shot up from his seat. He had forgotten that one of the books Harry had grabbed off the shelf had quite a detailed and _very_ biased description of the events that followed Lord Voldemort's quest to kill the Potters. He strode over to Harry's perch to snatch the book away. "Perhaps that is not a good read for you," he murmured.

"But wait! I was just getting to the good parts!"

"Believe me, there are _no_ good parts to this story," Severus assured him as he floated the book away to one of the top shelves that was out of Harry's reach.

"Tell me!"

"Quiet. No one likes a spoilt child."

Harry sulked with his arms folded against his chest and his knees pulled up as he watched Severus sit back down at the table and continue his notes. Even though the professor had told him more about his parents than anyone ever did, he still didn't say _everything_. He wanted to know why his parents had died and who killed them and why he hadn't been killed and why no one wanted to say anything about it. He wanted to know a lot more about his life. The book seemed to be the key. Harry flicked his eyes up at the shelf that housed it now. He would have to figure out a way to get it.

* * *

Severus stirred from his dreamless sleep because of a quiet disturbance. He rolled over onto his side and opened his eyes.

Harry blinked back at him.

"Goddamn it," he breathed as he shot up in bed and clutched at his heart. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," Harry chimed. There were no clocks in the house. "But I made breakfast." He crawled out of bed and scurried over to the small chest at the bedposts where he had placed a tray of food. "You don't have a stove, Professor. How do you cook food?" He had poured cereal into a bowl and arranged a spoon and napkin beside it with a mug of milk and a glass of juice at the top. He balanced the whole thing in his small hands and plodded around the bed. Severus quickly took the tray from his shaky hands, not wanting to clean up a mess if it all spilled. "Do you like cereal?" Harry asked. "I do."

"You aren't required to make me breakfast, Potter," Severus muttered tightly. "I am more than capable of caring for you. Did you make a mess of my kitchen?"

Harry appeared affronted as he harrumphed. "I'm being _nice_, Professor. I just wanted to make you breakfast. That's not bad. It's nice, okay? You made me breakfast yesterday, so _I_ wanted to make it for _you_ today."

Severus found it hard to keep up with this little rascal. He hated the way Potter had gotten a hold of what little slivers of sentimentality he had left. He remained mum as he poured milk into the bowl and ate his cereal. Harry sat on the edge of the bed to watch with a proud grin. That got disturbing _very _quickly. "Tell me more about the Dursleys then," Severus sighed.

Harry hopped off the bed, zoomed out the room, and then back in with his book in hand in a matter of seconds. He settled down on the rumpled sheets again. "I used to like school," he started reading. "But then Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had to go ruin it. They told the teachers a lot of lies. I wasn't allowed to go out to play or anything because they thought I'd fight with my friends." His bottom lip jutted out a bit. "I _won't_. I don't fight with friends. I like my friends." He scowled at his writing. "I never get presents for my birthday. They don't even remember my birthday. Uncle Vernon said he wishes I were never born. That's why they don't remember my birthday."

Severus clicked his tongue absently.

"Well, joke's on them," Harry continued as he turned his nose up. "I _was_ born, so they can't do anything about it."

"True."

"I don't like my room. It's too dark and I can always hear the clock outside. Aunt Petunia says it would help me sleep. It doesn't. It does the opposite. I have to keep my clothes under my cot because I don't have any place else to put it." He smiled up at Severus. "I like my room now, Professor. Thank you."

Severus tightened his grip on spoon, imagining it was his wand and then imagining that wand pointing directly at Albus Dumbledore. "Tell me about the magic," he grumbled through clenched teeth.

Harry tossed the book aside as his eyes widened in enthusiasm. "Once, Dudley and his gang were trying to hit me with rocks. They hit me a lot of times and it didn't really hurt. But one of them was going to hit my face and then, suddenly, it flew off and hit Dudley's dumb friend in the neck. It wasn't so funny then, but it's funny now!" He laughed as he reminisced. "Also my aunt doesn't like my hair and she keeps taking me to the barber to cut it off. I don't know why she won't just leave it be. It's not being a bother to _anyone_. It's on _my_ head, not hers. She's so silly." He huffed. "My haircut stays for a day but, the next morning, it all grows back. I tried asking her why it did that and she said something about… something. I don't know. That I'm weird. But I knew it wasn't that simple." He nodded with a knowing smile. "I knew, Professor. I knew I was different. I'm glad I'm not the only one."

"Hmm."

* * *

Just four days into his stay, he was already sent to the dungeons to clean out the cauldrons. All he had done was borrow Professor's wand and try to float things. The look on Severus' face when he caught Harry not one minute after was terrifying. Harry had been quelled into dropping the wand and scrambling away. Severus was faster as he shot forward and gripped Harry's ear between his fingers, pinching it hard, and dragged him out into the corridor. He hadn't said a word despite all the crying and flurry of apologies. He simply threw the door to the basement open and jerked Harry down it.

The dungeon was dark, cold and damp. Harry started screaming at that point, so sure that he was going to be killed. Severus lit the place with a wave of his hand. Torches lined the walls evenly and the light made the dungeon seem even more terrifying. He all but tossed Harry into the dark corner of the room and threw a dirty wooden brush at him. "I want it clean in one hour," he snarled. He pushed a bucket of lukewarm, soapy water towards the boy before pointing at the four black cauldrons that stood against the wall. "Not a spot left, understand?" He didn't wait for Harry to answer. He swept out of the cellar and left the crying child there.

Harry whimpered sadly as he plopped down on his bottom and pressed his fists against his eyes from behind his glasses. Professor was just like the Dursleys after all. He nearly cried himself sick for many, many minutes before running out of tears. Then he started shivering from the frigid draft that seemed to hit every exposed part of his body. Once he realized that Severus wasn't coming back, he took the time to survey his surroundings. The cellar was enormous. Against one wall stood glass cabinets, all locked, with many strange flasks, boxes, tins and plants housed in them. They were labeled neatly. Atop the large stone counter stood many shiny instruments Harry could only guess the uses for. There were a lot of cauldrons, big and small, copper and silver, dirty and clean. A contained fire was heating one of the cauldrons up on the countertop and swirling grey steam came off the top. Harry ventured towards it while wiping away the tears from his cheeks. He didn't dare touch anything but he was fascinated by the blue flames. The smell of strong menthol was prominent. It reminded Harry of medicine and doctors. He wondered if that was what Professor did as his job. There were measuring cups, stirring sticks, chopping boards on which a few remnant of dried up stems still sat, and a teetering balance that kept rocking back and forth.

When Severus silently ventured downstairs an hour later, he found Harry squatting on the floor and scrubbing the cauldrons as fast as his little hands could. He had only finished one from the looks of it. The professor walked over and watched the boy work diligently. Harry would first dip the brush into the bucket and then run the hard bristles over the caked up residue in the bottom of the cauldron. His whole arm would disappear into it because of how large the cauldron was. Severus feared he might actually fall in after watching him work. He cleared his throat quietly.

Harry jerked and whipped his head around.

"Lunch," Severus murmured.

Harry's face scrunched up and he looked like he might cry again. But he turned away from Severus instead and kept scrubbing, his actions suddenly becoming fierce and angry. He grabbed the bucket and poured some of the water into the cauldron. He seemed to have figured out that the pail had been enchanted so it never ran out of soapy water. He kept cleaning, the sound of sloshing water echoing through the dungeon.

"I said it's time for lunch," Severus tried again.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not done yet."

Severus examined the lone cleaned cauldron, twitching his mouth when he realized how his version of clean and Potter's version were two vastly different things. "You may stop."

"No."

The professor glanced down at him. "Stubborn?"

Harry ground his teeth together.

"Stubbornness often works against you," Severus noted. "And why would you keep cleaning if I asked you to stop?" Harry didn't know why. He had a sense of morality in him. If his punishment was to clean four cauldrons, then he would. "It's not a sign of weakness if you take an opportunity that comes your way, Potter, even if it means putting aside some pride." Harry didn't respond. He poured the dirty water out of the cauldron and onto the ground, watching it flow down the drain. "A wand isn't a plaything. It is a dangerous weapon. And it is a wizard's prized possession. The wand _chooses_ its wizard. It becomes a part of the wizard, part of his soul."

Harry hazarded a look at the professor.

"You mustn't play with it. You must respect it. And you must respect my property."

He had stopped scrubbing the cauldron by then. He simply squatted down, wet from the water and sweating from strenuous activity. He felt tears stinging his eyes again and he quickly blinked it away. How was he supposed to know that a wand was so important? He didn't know anything. Professor said he was stupid, didn't he? So how did he expect Harry to know that a wand was so important? He tilted his head down and hid his face against his knees.

Severus knelt down and tried to coax Harry into standing up. "Lunch will get cold," he said quietly. After a minute, he managed to get Harry up . The young boy might not know it yet, but that was Severus' way of apologizing.

* * *

"Severus Snape is such a silly name, right?"

Severus looked up sharply. Harry had made that passing remark without much bite, as though he had been commenting about the weather. He hadn't even lifted up his head from his parchment on which he was painstakingly writing with a quill. It was so strange writing with a feather. "You think my name is silly?" the professor asked.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled before sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth and underlining a word carefully. "Dudley made fun of _my_ name. I have a silly name too. He called me Harry Potty. That's the best he could come up with."

Severus smirked behind his newspaper. "Then what's the best _you_ can come up with?" he wanted to know.

"Well, _I_ can't come up with anything. But at school they'd call me Nutter Crackpotter. Because I'm crazy. That's pretty clever, huh?"

"Are you crazy?"

"Not _crazy_," Harry stressed. "Like… Crazy. You know? I do weird things. That kind of crazy. I'm not _crazy_."

"Emphasizing the word does not help me differentiate its meanings."

He sighed loudly. "I'm not _crazy_, Professor. But sometimes they think I do weird things. That doesn't make me _crazy_. It just makes me crazy."

"You _are_ quite strange, if you want my honest opinion."

"Strange, but not _crazy_. You are quite strange too, Professor. That's why we're friends."

* * *

Severus was shocked out of his reverie in the cellar when he heard a loud crash above, which could indicate only one thing. He rushed up the stairs and into the library, gaping at the mess he found on the floor. Harry lay awkwardly in the middle and books were scattered all around him. Severus looked up in astonishment. Books from the top shelf had fallen. That meant Harry had also fallen from there. With a quiet swear, he strode over to the boy who was just coming to.

However, before he could throw sharp words Harry's way, he was interrupted by a loud shriek.

Harry screamed as fear suddenly clouded his mind. It was a delayed reaction from the fall. He hadn't hurt himself but he had scared himself witless. He vaguely felt arms wrap around him, so he clung on as hard as he could to keep from falling. His heart and stomach kept plunging over and over again. He buried his face against Severus' shoulder and screamed himself hoarse. Then he cried until he fell asleep.

He had a raging fever for two days after the fall. He kept fighting off bullies, trying to run away from the school principal, and cowering in his dark closet. He knew it wasn't real but, at times, it felt too real. Even when he heard Professor talking to him, it felt too real. He hated his nightmares.

But he always woke up from them.

He stirred awake with stifling heat all around him. He was sweating and it felt gross. He tried to move but was stopped by a weight around his waist. That's when he realized that his professor was sleeping quietly next to him, his expression slackened and his breath heavy. The boy stayed still and silent. It was nighttime. He moved his hands hesitantly to scrunch up Severus' shirt. It smelled of spicy grass and soap. He cuddled closer and his eyes fell shut.

Severus awoke when he felt Harry shift. He was a light sleeper. He tipped his head down to find the boy feigning sleep. "Potter?" he whispered.

"Hmm?" The professor always called him Potter.

"Are you alright? Do you want some water?"

"No."

"You've been sick."

Harry curled into Severus and pushed back his tears. "I-I want to see Mummy," he sniffed. "I want to see Mummy and Daddy and I can't. Even when I sleep I can't."

"It's a nightmare," Severus murmured. He pushed away black strands of hair that stuck to Harry's sweaty forehead. "You're okay now." He rested his hand against Harry's flushed cheek.

Harry raised his head to reveal his teary eyes. "You look scary…"

Severus couldn't help his dry smile. He pulled his hand back and nodded. "I know," he said. He had a reputation for looking scary. "Goodnight." He moved to get up.

Harry quickly threw his arms around Severus, holding him in bed. "I didn't mean it badly," he mumbled. He buried his face against his professor's chest. "If you look that scary, then the Dursleys won't come get me because they'd be scared, right? You'll scare everyone away, won't you? Even monsters?"

"Is that what you would like me to do?"

"Mhm. Please?"

Severus rested a hesitant hand against Harry's head, letting his fingers sink into the mess of hair. "I will certainly try," he said. "Is that enough?"

"Yes."


	3. The One With Hogwarts

Harry gaped as he stood in front of Hogwarts for the very first time. He had never felt so overwhelmed in his entire life. His hand tightened around Severus'. "I-I don't want to go in," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"And why not?" Severus asked as he pulled Harry forward.

"I just don't." Harry tried to pull him back.

"This is my home for ten months out of the year."

"I like your other home."

"Just come along," Severus sighed as he resorted to forcefully dragging the boy up the stairs. He had to do a lot of dragging when Harry was around.

Just inside the large double doors was Albus Dumbledore who was all smiles and twinkles. Severus scowled at him and Harry was too terrified to acknowledge pretend Santa. The Headmaster gestured for Severus to walk to the Slytherin dungeons. "Merry New Year," the old man wished the two cold travelers. Severus grunted in acknowledgement while Harry stumbled over his words to wish Albus the same. "I've taken the liberty in helping you two settle in."

He wasn't kidding about that.

Severus' jaw slackened when he walked into his living quarters. It was suddenly double the size, littered with candles, and… "Where are my things?" the professor asked in disbelief.

"This is simply the common area," Albus told him. He gestured to the door on the right. "That leads to your office and bedroom." He gestured to the door on the left. "That leads to _your_ office and bedroom, Harry."

The boy giggled nervously. "I don't need an office," he mumbled. "I'm only eight."

"Oh, of course. How silly of me."

Severus rolled his eyes at the two of them as he made his way to the door and pushed it open. He let out a quiet sigh of relief when he realized that everything was just the way he had left it. For a moment he thought that Albus had dropped some marbles. Harry, in the meantime, was ushered along by the Headmaster and shown to his room. His eyes grew wide when he took in the ornate decorations, a bed that was even _bigger_ than the one in Severus' house, a small study with empty shelves that he could fill with whatever he liked, his own moving paintings, and a bathroom that was just perfect. "I-I don't need all this," he breathed. He looked up at Albus earnestly. "I don't."

"Sometimes you'll have to accept things you don't need," Albus smiled. "Think of this as a Christmas present."

"Wow…"

"Now, Harry." The Headmaster knelt down next to the boy. "Severus told you about the rules, didn't he?"

Harry nodded. "I'm not allowed to talk to anyone unless Professor is around. And I should try _really_ hard not to get lost in here," he recited.

"Very good. So your meals will be ready in the common area starting this afternoon. Professor Snape will have classes and he must not be disturbed when he is preparing his notes. He won't have as much time for you anymore because of his students. But I'll make sure you have plenty to do in here and out on the grounds." He pointed out a small, inconspicuous door beside the bathroom. "That leads out into a private yard where you can play. There are wards set around the edges so no one will disturb you. You can't leave the yard, but I believe you'll find it sufficient. The door locks after curfew, which is eight in the evening for you. And I trust you'll have quite an adventure exploring your room."

"This is so cool," Harry mumbled in awe. "Dudley would be so jealous."

A fortnight later, he was finally getting into a routine. He woke up a little after Severus and there was always food on the table. It was magic. He would eat the wonderfully scrumptious meal and then Severus, who would get ready for his classes, gave him a list of chores and homework to be done by the evening. He was allowed to work at his own pace and he could use the Professor's library all he wanted. He wasn't allowed into the potions laboratory however. That was a bummer. Then he would be left alone to his devices.

He _loved_ going out into his garden.

The yard was heaven for him. Even though it was the thick of winter, he would spend all his time in the garden. There were trees on all corners that were just the right size for him to climb. There were balls that he could throw around. Some of them were enchanted so it would bounce back to him perfectly. Others would zoom around at random and he would have to chase it around bushes. He played a lot of pretend games with sticks he found on the ground. He'd make up spells and shoot at imaginary bad people. He could sit and read on the bench if he wanted to. He could do a lot of things. He also liked to peek out over the large hedges that surrounded the garden. The lake was _right there_.

When he got tired, he would go back inside where a snack awaited him and then he had to reluctantly sit down to do some work. That was the worst part of his day, doing school stuff. He wanted to keep playing.

Sometimes Severus dropped by to check up on him. Other times Harry would be alone until around four. By then he would be frantically trying to finish his work. His lesson ran from four to six, then he got a dinner break, and he would keep studying until eight. He had to get ready for bed after that. He was knocked out cold most days, the bed practically enveloping him in amazing dreams.

But his curiosity could only be contained for so long.

In the brink of dawn, small feet pattered through the common room and the sound of china and cutlery echoed ever so faintly as the table was set and heavenly food was floated on top.

"Hello."

The house elf whipped around in fright and gaped at Harry who sat huddled in a blanket on the sofa, looking ever so sleepy. "Ah-I-M-Master Potter," the little creature squeaked in fright.

"What _are _you?" Harry asked in confusion.

The house elf squeezed his eyes shut and vanished with a pop, leaving the young boy dazed.

Severus chided Harry when he found the child sleeping on the sofa in the morning, but that didn't stop him from staking out the common area the next day. This time he was more alert when the house elf walked over to the table and placed breakfast on it. "Hello," he greeted again.

The house elf, like before, jerked around while curling his fingers against his chest. "Master Potter must be in bed!" he exclaimed.

"I know," Harry said with a cheeky smile. "Don't go away this time."

The house elf seemed torn as the boy pushed all the blankets off and padded down to meet the creature. "W-we must not be seen," the house elf stammered.

"Me too," Harry whispered. "I can't be seen either. I'll keep you a secret. Will you keep me a secret?"

"Of course, Master Potter."

The two of them stared at each other with intense interest. Harry had _never_ seen a house elf before, but somehow wasn't surprised after all he had been through in the past month. The house elf, Pip, was in awe at being this close to the Boy-Who-Lived. His large ears twitched in excitement. Harry laughed when he saw that. "You're so cool," he gushed. "Can I touch you?"

Pip lowered his head and dropped his gaze to the floor.

Harry rested his hesitant fingers between Pip's ears. The skin felt wrinkly, soft, and cold. "Wow. You're real," he breathed. "You're so real!"

"Yes, Master Potter."

"You should call me Harry. I don't like Master Potter."

Pip floundered a bit. "Very well, H-Harry Potter."

"What's _your_ name?"

"Pip."

"Let's be friends, Pip."

Pip looked up with his wide brown eyes. "F-friend? Oh no, Master Potter Harry Potter sir. Pip cannot be your friend. Pip is a house elf."

"You're an _elf_?" Harry gasped. "Wow! You'll be my first elf friend!"

"N-no. That is not proper."

"Why not? You make me breakfast. That's really nice of you. Usually I make my own food," Harry explained. "Your food is delicious."

Pip blushed and ducked his head again. "Master Potter Harry Potter is too kind," he mumbled. "Sometimes the food is made by other house elves."

"There are more?"

"So many of us."

Harry could barely keep from hopping up and down. "That's great!" he exalted. "You should tell them that the food is delicious! Oh! But don't tell them that I told you… _And_ you should come visit me when I'm awake. I don't have anyone to play with."

"Uh… A-alright, Master Potter Harry Potter sir."

"It's just Harry."

"Pip must go now."

"Okay. Bye, Pip."

"Goodbye," Pip said vaguely before disappearing.

* * *

Severus was in his usual spot on the couch reading through his notes for the third time with a quill at hand. He had been working on a few spells but he just couldn't seem to control the strength of them. He knew that different patterns of wand movement were the key, but there were an absurdly large amount of those. Once he had mastered them, he would be able to make some of his potions with half the work.

He didn't acknowledge Harry when he walked in. He almost never acknowledged Harry when he was in the middle of work. Harry knew that. He plopped down on the sofa beside Severus, bored out of his mind. He had finished all his homework and now he had _nothing_ to do except read. It was raining out and he wasn't allowed in the yard. Everything was so _boring_.

Severus leaned forward slightly when he felt Harry climb onto the back of the sofa and sidle over. The boy was always climbing on things and sitting in unusual spots. He had long since resigned to the fact that Harry was a little monkey who couldn't keep his hands to himself. That night, Harry sat behind Severus, his knees digging into the professor's back and hands clutching onto the back cushions so he wouldn't go toppling backwards onto the floor. He tried to squint and read Severus' writing but it was too spidery and made of shorthand notations. Severus trusted no one so he wrote most of his notes in an encrypted language. Harry's eyes danced and went cross-eyed after a few minutes. He shook his head to get rid of the ache.

Severus stilled when he felt small fingers tangling into his hair. They started moving down the length of his hair slowly. Harry was grooming him. That was new. He refocused on his notes. He knew that Harry was feeling some cabin fever, so he let this strange behavior pass.

Harry diligently ran his fingers over Severus' hair to comb out all the tangles. He was careful not to pull at the professor's hair too hard. Once he had gotten it to fall as smoothly as possible, he grabbed all the hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. He eyed it critically, feeling a bit disappointed that he didn't have an elastic on him. He didn't really like Severus' hair. It made him look unkempt. He wondered if he should cut it off. But it'd probably grow back like his did that time.

Severus felt his head being tugged back as Harry leaned in to rest his chin on the professor's shoulder. "What?" he asked absently.

Harry sighed and let go of the hair in his hand. He slid his arms around Severus' neck instead. "Can we play something?" he whispered.

"No," Severus answered impatiently. "And I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop strangling me, Potter."

Harry let go of him but didn't move his chin. "I was just hugging you," he grumbled. He tilted his head up and down a few times so his chin rolled over Severus' shoulder, making sure he still held some attention. "Can I call you Severus?"

"Go _away_, you little brat."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop talking."

* * *

Hagrid was bringing in the second load of firewood from the forest when he heard Fang whimper and then watched him scurry off into the hut with his tail between his legs. "Ruddy dog," he grunted before dropping the wood by his feet and turning around to peer into the dark grounds. "Who's there?" he called out. He heard quiet scampering of light feet and he followed the sound, but still couldn't make out anything in the moonless night. "Students can't be out, ye hear?" he threatened while wagging a finger.

He was surprised to hear a quiet giggle behind him.

He whipped around and brought his arms together simultaneously.

He found himself holding a tiny imp between his hands. "What the hell?" he exclaimed.

"You're a _giant_!" Harry crowed. "That's so cool!"

"My _word_, Harry Potter!" Hagrid gasped. He dropped the child on the ground in fright. Then he gasped again when he realized what he had done and he hurried to pick the boy up off the grass. "What in the devil's name are you doin' out here, you?"

"I wanted to meet you!" Harry laughed. "I see you working all the time and I've never met a giant before and I like your dog. You're _really_ big. Your name's Rubeus Hagrid, right? Professor Snape told me."

"If Dumbledore finds out," Hagrid huffed and puffed. He gingerly placed Harry down on the ground and stepped back with his arms folded against his chest. "But I've gotta say, ye look jus' the same, Harry. Like your father you do."

Harry stood up straight with his chest out proudly. "I _know_. I'm going to be just like him," he announced. "Did Albus Dumbledore tell you about me?"

Hagrid sniffed in an affected manner. "Course he did. I'm the Gameskeeper, ain't I? I know 'bout everything tha' goes on in 'ere. Includin' _you_." Then he waved his large hand. "Shoo, before Snape has my head."

"Aw, he's _sleeping_," Harry whispered secretively. "Don't tell him I'm out." Then he surveyed the land before him. "Is that your house?" he asked while pointing at the brightly lit hut.

"What if it is?"

"Can I see?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

Hagrid, always the big softie, caved at that. His shoulders slumped and he appeared _very_ disgruntled, but he nodded unenthusiastically. Harry cheered and skipped towards the stone stairs. He couldn't wait to meet the giant dog.

* * *

"Hey, Pip?" Harry mumbled as he bit into a juicy, plump strawberry while looking up at the starry sky. He was lying on the grass with his legs crossed and a warm blanket over his chest. "What's it like to fly?"

Pip quickly chewed and swallowed his bite excitedly. "It is amazing, Harry Potter. To feel as safe in the sky as you would on the ground is an amazing feeling," he explained. "Have you ever flown?"

"No." Harry tossed the stem of the berry away and sighed. "But my father played Quidditch. I want to play Quidditch too, but Professor won't let me try a broom. He says brooms are a fool's dying wish. But _I'm_ a fool, so it's okay for me to try."

Pip looked off to the corner and his large ears twitched as he thought for a long minute. "It _is_ true," he finally said slowly. "Many boys fall off brooms and break things. Very painful."

"_I_ won't fall," Harry said confidently. He turned over onto his stomach to look at Pip who was lying beside him. "I'll be as good as my father." He smiled at the young house elf. "You'll see."

"I believe you, Harry Potter," Pip tittered. "You can do anything."

"Pip, you are my _favorite_," Harry proclaimed. "You always say nice things so you're my _favorite_."

Pip blushed and smiled sheepishly.

* * *

The great stone tower in the middle of the night is an eerie and strikingly beautiful place. The corridors are lit with the odd candle and quiet breathing echoed from the sleeping portraits. There would be no chatter and patter of students. It was a time for reflection and dreams.

A soft voice sang a song that wasn't discernable in the resonating hallways, but it was a sad tune and a melancholy melody. The song floated through archways and around pillars, never loud enough to reach the sleeping ears of the students who lay safe in their beds. Rowena Ravenclaw trailed her fingers along the walls, unable to feel the coarseness against her translucent hand. She sang almost absently, as though her heart had taken over her senses. Her heart wanted to sing, so she sang. She sang about her home so long ago, far away, her daughter lost, sorrow, longing, many things.

And when she chanced upon a young boy sitting by a pillar overlooking the forest, she paused. It wasn't often that she encountered students. However, as she neared the child, she realized that he wasn't a student at all. Too young.

Harry had his knees pulled up to his chest and his head tucked down so his tears went unheeded. But when the sad song faded away, he looked up reflexively and found himself looking at a beautiful ghost with long dark hair and a flowing dress.

"Oh," Rowena groaned when she saw his wet cheeks. "Do not cry, love."

Harry shook his head and quickly wiped his face dry. "Sorry," he hiccupped.

"What is the matter?"

"You were singing a sad song…"

"Ah…"

"I felt sad."

She reached out to stroke his hair and stopped short. "I… I am sorry," she murmured. She pulled her hand back. "I did not mean to make you sad."

"Are you sad too?" he wanted to know.

"Aren't we all?" she asked bitterly. "What are you sad about, young lad?"

"I'm… M-my parents. I want to see them."

"Hmm."

"I don't remember them," Harry continued. "They died and I don't remember them anymore. I wish I could. And when I heard your song, I felt so sad about it and I felt like crying. So I…"

"Cried."

"Mhm."

"You are a brave one," Rowena praised. "I have lost a child. Hence _my_ sadness."

"It's not fair," Harry sniffled.

"I agree. But you know something? I am sure your father and mother are glad for your wish. I am sure they wish for the same miracle. I do. Everyday."

"But if she's dead, can't you see her? You're dead too."

"Dead, but still a part of this world, young lad," she sighed. "And she is part of the other world."

"C-can you see her sometime? Maybe later?" Harry pressed on. "Maybe when you get to go to the other world? You can see her then, right?"

"Hmm."

"Right?"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps doesn't sound nice."

"I know. It sounds rotten," Rowena agreed. "Quite a rotten word that is."

"You know what else sounds rotten?" Harry continued eagerly. "When Professor says 'I'll think about it'. He means no, but he won't say it. It sounds very rotten to me. Also when he says 'I ought to send you down to the kitchens and let them keep you there'. _I_ won't mind if he sent me to kitchens. I _like_ house elves. But the way he says it is so rotten that I just _know_ he means rotten things. What other rotten words do you know?"

Rowena laughed quietly at this young chatter. It wasn't often that children spoke to her or piqued her interest. "Well, I have a few that you might enjoy," she conspired.

* * *

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Professor Minerva McGonagall removed the Sorting Hat from Harry's head so he could blink back the light and stare at the gaping students in front of him, all craning to catch a glimpse of the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry got up off the stool and glanced back at Severus sheepishly. The professor had a sour expression on his face and he wasn't even looking at Harry. The boy walked down the stairs as applause rang out in the Great Hall from the Gryffindor table. He smiled at all the eagerly waving housemates before sitting down beside the other First Years who had already been sorted.

Hermione Granger leaned towards him and whispered, "That took an awfully long time. What happened?"

"It couldn't make up its mind," Harry mumbled as he winced from all the back thumps he was getting from the Weasley twins.

"You really are Harry Potter," Neville Longbottom exhaled in awe.

"Make up its mind?" Hermione asked over Neville's quip. "Why?"

"I don't know." Harry shrugged while appearing the picture of innocence.

"_Hmm… Very interesting."_

_He perked up when he heard the raspy voice of the hat inside his head. 'Am I?' he thought._

"_You certainly are, Harry James Potter. Difficult. Plenty of courage. Not a bad mind. Hmm… Talented. And there is such a thirst in you. You want to prove yourself. Good. A lot of good. But where to put you?"_

'_You don't know?' He was immensely surprised. 'I thought you knew.'_

"_Slytherin would do wonders with this mind of yours, Harry James Potter. You could achieve greatness."_

'_I don't need a house to achieve greatness. I'm already great.'_

"_Slytherin nurtures you."_

'_Who are you?' Harry wanted to know. 'Albus Dumbledore?' _

_He had barely gotten that thought out when he heard a booming rumble. It took him a moment to realize that the hat was laughing. He wondered if anyone else could hear it. "I am flattered, child! Albus Dumbledore? Hmm… No. I am merely a hat."_

'_Not just a hat.'_

"_Why do you not wish to be a Slytherin, Harry James Potter?"_

'_Why do __you_ _want me to be a Slytherin?'_

"_You'll make incredible friends."_

'_I've already got friends.'_

"_Hufflepuff, then?"_

_He wrinkled his nose._

_The hat laughed once again. "You __do__ have a preference. No, Hufflepuff will not be able to keep up with the havoc you are about to wreak. The more time I spend inside your mind, the more enthralled I am. You are much too quick to the draw and so cannot be a Ravenclaw. Which leaves…"_

'_Gryffindor.'_

"_Gryffindor."_

'_Where my mother and father were sorted into. Gryffindor. Lions are cool.'_

"_How could I argue with such stubbornness?"_

* * *

"Are you mad?" Harry mumbled as he scuffed the floor next to Severus' desk. "You are, aren't you?"

"If you were placed in Slytherin, you would have been eaten alive," Severus said shortly.

"So it's okay, right?"

"Hmm."

"Professor?"

"Yes, Potter. It's fine."

Harry smiled abruptly. "That's a relief," he sighed. "It was either Slytherin or Gryffindor. And don't worry. I'll be a Slytherin in disguise." He narrowed his eyes with purpose. "See? I'm a snake _and_ a lion."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I will show absolutely no leniency for any trouble you cause in that dratted house," he muttered under his breath.

"I know, I know." Harry scratched his chin as he glanced away before adding, "But you aren't allowed to fail me in Potions."

"I shall be doing exactly that, Potter. I have never met anyone more dreadful at Potions than you."

"That's a lie. I know it's a lie." He hugged Severus quickly. "Night. I'll see you tomorrow." He was going to miss waking up to the professor's voice in the morning. But that's okay. He ran out of the office in heady excitement at the mere thought of his first day at school.


	4. The One With Another Christmas

Fifteen years later…

"GET DOWN!"

Short shrieks of astonishment punctuated the commotion in the busy, wintery street market as customers dove to either side of the pavement in an attempt to get away from the black streaks hurtling past their heads. Mothers grabbed their gawking children and spun them into the rickety stalls before they could be mowed down by the stream of men speeding after each other on brooms. Shop owners craned their necks to follow the commotion that disrupted holiday shopping. The chase grew heated as the riders veered into busy lanes of people in an attempt to get ahead.

"STOP OR WE FIRE!"

The man in the front who appeared to be in very serious trouble didn't even falter at the threat. He knew there was no way his pursuers could pull out a wand while traveling at breakneck speeds in a bazaar that was full of innocent bystanders. He pressed onwards, lowering his body against the broom to push through frigid air.

A heavy brown leather satchel hung across his shoulder, laden with burgled wares that he had no business possessing.

He turned a sharp left and then a quick right.

An enormous decorated pine tree that stood right in his path made him falter and yelp. He pulled up as hard as he could to make the broom climb.

"SHIT!" he heard before he was struck in the back by a brutal force that launched him into the air, straight at the tree. He grunted as he struck the sharp branches, breaking needles and ornaments on the way. He ended up getting buried deep inside before he felt the tree tipping dangerously. "Oh no," he muttered.

There was sudden madness in the market as everyone tried to run out of the way of the falling holiday tree. Ornaments shook off and fell to the ground, shattering on impact. With a dramatic effect, the tree toppled onto half a dozen stalls, causing a thundering crash to sound throughout the district.

He sputtered to get the fir needles out of his mouth, completely immobilized by the tree trunk pressing against his ribs and-

"Stay down, you bloody idiot," Harry Potter panted while restraining the culprit's hands behind his back.

* * *

"ARE YOU A BLOODY IDIOT?" Gawain Robards bellowed in the privacy of his own office. Harry cringed and kept his head down. The Head Auror had spittle flying out of his mouth and he didn't want his face to be anywhere near _that_. Gawain was purple in the face and shaking in disbelief. "DO YOU HAVE _ANY_ IDEA WHAT KIND OF DAMAGES WE ARE LOOKING AT, POTTER?" he screamed. "YOU WERE CHASING AFTER A _BURGLER_! HOW DIFFICULT COULD THAT _BE_?"

Harry shifted his weight to his other foot and ducked his head even lower.

Gawain turned away so he wouldn't end up actually throwing a paperweight at the young Auror for his incompetence. He took a deep breath instead to calm his nerves. He felt like he was about to have a heart attack. The press was banging at his doors, figuratively, wanting answers for why half of the shoppers were clamoring for compensation, not to mention the uproar from the shopkeepers who had to deal with the fallen tree. "Bloody hell," he swore as he spun on his heel to face Harry again. "ARE YOU AN IDIOT OR NOT?"

"Yes, sir."

"HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO CONTROL YOURSELF ON YOUR BROOM? THIS IS _IT_! YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FLY FOR _TWO MONTHS_!"

Harry whipped his eyes up in shock. "What? You can't-"

"I _CAN'T_?"

"You _can't_! You can't do that, sir! I-I'm sorry. I said I-"

"GET OUT BEFORE I DECIDE TO TAKE YOUR WAND AWAY TOO!"

The cramped locker room was hushed as the door opened to reveal Harry dragging his feet behind him. His kicked puppy look was enough to make his team burst into patronizing applause and catcalls. This was certainly not the first time he had gotten chewed out by the Head Auror. He slumped against his locker headfirst and simply stood there feeling the cold metal against his forehead. This was the _worst_ Christmas Eve _ever_.

He felt a soft thump against his back. "No," he whined.

"A bunch of us are going out for drinks," his partner, Chase, said kindly. "You up for it?"

"Leave me alone."

"Oh, come on, Harry," a couple of his coworkers called out. "You need to get drunk tonight."

Harry pulled his locker open and attempted to stuff himself inside it, but Chase managed to coax him out with gentle tugs and encouraging words. In a matter of minutes, he found himself sitting in a loud, smoky pub with pitchers of beer and glasses of whiskey being shoved his way.

"IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" he slurred over the din. He was met with a chorus of acknowledgement. "THAT STUPID IDIOT FLEW AT THE TREE _FIRST_! How was I supposed to stop in time?" He slammed the empty tankard onto the table, causing the glasses to rattle. "Robards is after my head," he complained. "I haven't even _done_ anything yet. I _haven't_."

"We know."

Whenever Harry did something wrong, which happened to be every two months or so, he would always say that he could have done much _worse_. Ever the optimist. It was a miracle that he hadn't managed to kill someone yet. Seven years in the force and he had already cost the department more money than the price of improving the Ministry's infrastructure. The only reason he still had his job was because he closed a ridiculous number of cases, no matter the ruckus he caused while doing it.

"This sucks." He slumped forward against the table. "Two months… I'm going to go crazy…"

His partner was his better conscience, always cautious and looking out for him. Chase was a few years his senior and so felt the need to nurture this explosive character that had been thrust into his care five years ago. Harry Potter was a celebrity, a lovable kid who always seemed to get caught with an arm in the cookie jar. A bother. Chase didn't mind. Harry had a kind heart despite his sly tongue and impulsiveness. He could do great things if he put the right kind of effort into it.

Harry stumbled along beside Chase who was escorting him to his flat. "You have to go home," he mumbled. "Peter's waiting, hmm?"

"It's fine," Chase assured his partner. Peter was his four-year-old son who was most likely asleep and dreaming about all the presents he would be getting the next day. The boy had no qualms about his father being late from work. As long as he got to meet Harry Potter once in a while for breakfast, he had no qualms at all. Harry Potter was the coolest, he thought. "Besides, if _you_ don't get home in one piece," Chase chuckled, "he'll have _my_ head."

"Heh." Harry smiled at his feet. "I like him. Pete's funny."

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"What you did today… It was dangerous," Chase said quietly. The faint creases on his forehead became more prominent. "Do you realize that?"

"Dangerous?" Harry scoffed. "No _way_. That was _awesome_. I caught him, didn't I?"

"What if someone had gotten hurt?"

"That won't happen."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm Harry Potter."

Chase sighed in defeat as Harry puffed his chest out and planted his fists on his hips. Really, he was just like a child sometimes.

"And I won't let _you_ get hurt either," he added firmly. "I won't let _anyone_ get hurt."

"_You_ got hurt," Chase noted while casting a wary glance at the bandage around Harry's forearm and the gauze on the side of his head.

"_These_?" Harry snorted in derision. "Get real, man."

"I _am_ getting real. You are the one who won't take this seriously."

He didn't respond and the two of them walked five blocks in silence until they had reached the five-storey apartment complex where he stayed. Half of the darkened windows were trimmed with blinking, festive lights and the street was abandoned as everyone was already in bed full from a heavy dinner.

Harry exhaled loudly and abruptly. "I'm sorry. I won't do that again…"

"Ah, it's okay," Chase brushed off.

He nodded but still seemed despondent. "And merry Christmas. I hope you like your present."

Chase laughed sheepishly as he dragged his long fingers through his fair head of hair. "Well, Vicky helped pick yours out, so hopefully you like it too," he shrugged.

"Aw shucks," Harry tsked. "You guys are awesome. The _best_."

"You have a great Christmas."

"I'll try."

Once he had gotten up to the third floor with some difficulties along the way, it took him two tries to actually get into his home. He felt awfully nauseous from the climb and the events of the day was starting to push its way back into his mind with crushing force, making him feel miserable. He just wanted to cry.

He staggered to a halt by the entrance to his tiny living room. The holiday tree that stood in the corner was still illuminated with soft while lights and there was a modest amount of presents under it, overflowing onto the rug where his favorite dog in the whole world lay – Scout, a one-year-old field terrier with jet black fur. Harry smiled faintly as he tiptoed over and knelt down to stroke Scout's soft head. The dog _never_ yelled at him or made his feel bad. Best dog ever.

He curled up next to Scout and decided that the rug was a great place to sleep. He hugged his puppy and closed his eyes with a quiet sigh.

* * *

"Merry Christmas!" he cheered as soon as the worn white door opened. His grin fell the instant he saw the expression on his professor's face. "Oh…" It wasn't a very nice expression.

Severus had his jaw set firmly and his lips were pursed into a very thin line. "Do you have any idea what sort of a spectacle you made yourself out to be last night?" he asked in a chilled tone. He stepped back to let the young man into the house. Once they were in the drab living room, Severus grabbed the Daily Prophet off the coffee table and thrust it into Harry's hand. "See for yourself."

Harry cringed when he saw the enormous photograph that graced the front page, complete with a wide shot of the fallen tree and broken stalls. Underneath was the title: **BURGLER BUNGLES CHRISTMAS**: BOY-WHO-LIVED IN HOT WATER. "Ah see, I-I can explain," he started stammering.

But Severus would have none of it. "Just like your father," he muttered. "Absolutely irresponsible. Do you think you're invincible?"

"N-no, of course not. No one's in-"

"This is real life. Real life where real people live real lives."

"I know, but I-"

"You _need_ to grow up, Harry."

"I'm sorry… I know."

Severus exhaled to stop the rest of his sharp words. He took the paper from Harry's hands and set it aside before perching on the low table opposite him. "What's wrong?" He reached out to touch the small piece of gauze on the side of the young man's head. "Does it hurt?"

Harry shook his head vehemently while rubbing his eyes with his fist, angry at himself for doing this.

"Tell me."

"I'm not allowed to fly for two m-months," he mumbled.

"Ah…" Severus paused. If it had been someone else, he would have scoffed without thinking twice. However, flying was something entirely different for Harry. If the boy had his way, he would be in the sky all day and all night long. The worst punishment for him was this exactly. The Head Auror certainly knew his men well.

"I know I was being stupid," Harry sniffled. "I'm sorry. I just feel really bad today."

"I see that," Severus murmured uncomfortably. He never knew what to do when Harry cried, even after all these years. "Hmm… How about you open your present? Will that make you feel better?"

"Mhm."

"Alright."

And sure enough, as soon as he had opened the case of silverware, he was smiling shakily. Severus always got him practical gifts. Now he had proper utensils for his home. He set the small wooden container to the side and hugged his professor. "Thank you. I love it."

"Yes, well…" Severus pulled back awkwardly. "I can't understand how you've survived this long without proper spoons and knives."

Harry laughed. He wondered that often as well. Maybe he was just waiting for Severus to buy them for him. "Okay. Your turn." He handed over a large box wrapped in red wrapping paper. Severus unwrapped it carefully to reveal a crystal collection of assorted vials. "For your potions," Harry added.

"I see that," Severus said with some appreciation. "Thank you."

"Do you love it?" Harry pressed him.

"Yes."

"I knew you would."

After breakfast at Spinner's End, he had to be off to Grimmauld Place for lunch with his godfather.

Sirius pulled Harry into a jovial hug as soon as he had opened the door. "Did you see the newspaper?" he laughed heartily. "That's my boy!"

"I made a _spectacle_ of myself," Harry muttered under his breath, repeating Severus' sentiments word for word.

"You sure did!" Sirius was eager to tug his godson through the main foyer and into the living room where the Christmas party was already in full fling. "Look who's here," he announced.

Harry was greeted with applause and hoots, much to his embarrassment and thrill. He grinned sheepishly as he was pulled into boozy hugs and kisses. Sirius kept odd company. The house was decorated from top to bottom in red and gold. All the curtains were pulled open to let in the snowy sunlight and everything smelt of sugar and cinnamon. There was an enormous tree in the middle of the room and around it, instead of presents, was a table full of food and drinks. The fireplace crackled merrily and cheery carols crooned out of gramophones hidden around the home. Apparently they had started celebrating New Year's Day a little early.

"Harry," Remus welcomed with a warm smile. "You've looked better." He eyed the bandage around the young boy's arm. "Too much excitement, hmm?"

"Yeah… I got carried away," Harry conceded. "I know, I know."

"Glad you know," Remus chuckled. "And I'm most certainly glad to see you in one piece. I imagine Severus wasn't very happy with you."

"Yeah. That happened."

He thumped Harry's back good-naturedly. "What is done is done and you have learned from it, I hope," he proclaimed. "Today is hardly the day to dwell on things." His attention slipped for a moment and his eyes darted over Harry's shoulder as his smile widened.

Before Harry could turn around, he was struck against the back without warning, causing him to trip over his feet. Remus quickly righted him while laughing in surprise. Harry turned around to meet Nymphadora who was also in the process of regaining the balance she had lost when she caught a corner of the rug. "Hey, Harry," she beamed without missing a beat. "Fancy running into you."

"Ah, come on."

"You're supposed to laugh at bad jokes on Christmas day."

"I don't think I'll _ever_ laugh at your jokes, Tonks." He did however eye her colorful cropped hair that was a vibrant red and green. "I like your hair. Very festive."

"Thank you." She curtsied. "Very kind of you to say so."

"Where's Ted?"

"Here I am!"

Harry looked down in time to watch the boy hug his legs tight. "Ah, there you are." He picked Teddy up and pressed a firm kiss on his chubby toddler cheek. "What did you get me for Christmas?" he asked.

"What did _you_ get _me_?" Teddy asked in turn.

"I can't tell you. It's a surprise."

"It's a surprise for you too."

"Ah, I love surprises," Harry grinned.

"I love surprises too!" Teddy pressed a quick kiss on Harry's cheek before wriggling to get down on the ground. "Let's go eat food!"

"Sounds like a wonderful plan to me," Harry laughed. He waved at Remus and Tonks as he was pulled towards the buffet table.

After a long and musical afternoon at 12 Grimmauld Place, he had to make his way to the Burrrow for even _more_ fesitivies.

"HARRY'S HERE!" Fred and George harmonized perfectly before letting him through the doorway into the crowded living room.

"About time, dear," Molly said while fawning over his hurt arm and head. "It's not hurting, is it? Have you redressed it? Taken your potions? Rested?"

"No, yes, yes, and yes," Harry answered dutifully. "I'm all grown up now. Ron's the one who cries whenever he gets hurt."

"Hey!" Ron called out from across the room where he was helping Arthur roast marshmallows for the children. "I heard that."

Hermione hugged Harry once Molly was done with her fussing. "You're so stupid," she whispered into his ear.

"I know, I know," Harry sighed. "It's all I've been hearing. Let's drop it, alright?"

"Hmm," she smiled knowingly. "Professor Snape chewed you out, didn't he?"

"Hmph."

"It's okay. You're just really accident-prone. We'll leave things at that, shall we?"

"WHO WANTS SMORES?" Arthur cheered from beside the fireplace.

Harry spent the rest of Christmas with the Weasleys, eating to his heart's content, drinking eggnog, singing Christmas carols, and pelting snowballs in the garden. He opened tons of presents, ranging from sweaters and cookies to Quidditch tickets and a brand new pair of riding gloves. It turned out to be a pretty awesome Christmas after all.

* * *

In the last floor of the Ministry building, there is a magical place affectionately referred to as the 'Broom Closet'. Upon exiting the elevator into a quiet and empty hall, one had to simply walk the five meters to the large, heavy wooden doors.

It opened into an enormous gallery with plain white walls, linoleum floors and a ceiling that extended many, many meters upwards. Broomsticks ran laps, unmanned, along the top. Below were workbenches, worn equipment, and people dressed in grey overalls performing inspections or dictating to floating quills that took down their words on pieces of parchment. Also along one-quarter of the circular wall were fireplaces that flickered with green flames in timed intervals. More doors led further into the deep offices of the Department of Transportation, where there were laboratories that tested range of Portkeys, safety of Apparition in certain areas of the country, and kept watch on the traffic in the sky, especially in the Muggle areas.

Harry snuck in and stuck to the walls. He just wanted to look, that's all. Robards hadn't said anything about refraining from looking at brooms, had he? The Broom Closet was less crowded than usual because it was the day after Christmas and many of the workers were still enjoying their few days off. He sidled up to the small open cabinet by one of the windows where Ministry broomsticks were displayed, gleaming and stamped appropriately after servicing. His own broom stood in the middle, looking oh so lonely. Harry knew that if he reached out to even touch it, he would be compelled to fly away. So he kept his hands to his side firmly.

Two months.

Torture.

He lifted his head and glanced around when his ears picked up on a quiet whistle. It was directed at him. He stepped away from the cabinet hurriedly to make sure he won't get in trouble just as his eyes honed in on a familiar face standing by an unmarked door on the other side of the room.

Draco Malfoy stood leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed against his chest and his lips pursed. Harry deflated a bit, sticking his hands into his pockets and scuffing the floor with his shoe. Draco piqued a brow before tilting his head to the side and stepping back through the open door. Harry nervously walked to the nondescript room and entered it. He had never been in one of the workrooms before.

His eyes widened as soon as the enormity of the room registered. The walls and ceiling were stark white, almost seamless because of how even the light seemed to cast no shadows. Along the door was a white counter on which sat many strange silver instruments with dials, buttons, and knobs. But what really caught his attention was the beauty floating in the middle of the room about a meter off the ground.

He couldn't stop himself from moving towards it.

The newest Firebolt.

Sleek and sophisticated as all Firebolts looked, this one was made of grey wood and the footholds were a matte black, giving the broom a rather sinister look. The bristles were slender and silky, tipped with a touch of silver at the very end, causing the broom to appear as though it was about to catch on fire. Marvelous…

He flicked his eyes up when he heard the lazy taps of shoes in the silent chamber. Draco stopped short of the Firebolt, eyeing it with some envy. "What do you think?" he asked.

What did he think? Seriously?

He was speechless so he couldn't answer.

Draco understood. He nodded pensively. "It's not out in the market for few months." He raised his hand and ran a finger down the smooth stem. "Powerful. Zero to two hundred in ten seconds. Two ten if you're good. Water and fire resistant. Classic ash wood body. Unbreakable. Trigger precision. She can practically hear you think." His eyes darted up to meet Harry's. "Want to try it?"

Harry let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I…" He trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Yes…"

Draco smirked and stepped back.

Harry hesitantly touched the Firebolt with his thumb, a chill running down his spine as soon as he felt the cool, polished surface. He wrapped the rest of his fingers around the staff. How could a broom feel this light? He lowered the broomstick, feeling it yield to even the slightest touch. He mounted it and closed his other hand over the staff as well before pushing off gently. His feet left the ground and the broom held steady while he floated in midair. Such pure balance… He tilted his body to the right and the broom followed without a moment's hesitation. A new broom was always so impressionable. He leaned forward, prompting the Firebolt to slowly float towards the other end of the room. It really could hear him think.

Draco waved his wand at the ceiling.

Harry heard a faint crack, which made him look up. The roof stretched and morphed in front of his eyes, moving upwards steadily.

He didn't need to be asked twice.

He took off like a speeding bullet, spiraling upwards so fast he couldn't even breathe. He laughed voicelessly. Magical. Incredible. Perfect.

He slowed to a halt just before reaching the very top. He looked down and he could barely see anything at all, not even Draco. He flew down a little way until he was able to breathe a little easier. Then he started going out of his mind by doing flips and corkscrews and sudden accelerations and twists. It was almost as though he was flying all on his own. He was able to appreciate all the little nuances. He knew this would be a highly impractical broom for recreational flyers. It was a bit too testy and feline. No doubt expensive. But if the Quidditch league were to allow this on the fields… He shivered to think of how spectacular the games would look.

He spun back down to reality a little while later, landing gracefully on the ground with a dazed grin on his face and dilated eyes that refused to focus. He dismounted with some effort and paused for a moment so the world would stop turning on its head.

"So?"

All he could do was laugh helplessly at Draco who was sitting on the counter with a clipboard in his hand. Was he supposed to explain that? Was he supposed to say what he was feeling? He couldn't even put it into words. He couldn't do anything but laugh in hysterics.

He staggered over to the workbench and gently laid the Firebolt on it. "You haven't tried it yet?" he panted.

"No." Draco tapped his quill against the parchment while examining the broomstick critically. "It's a little… overwhelming."

"It is," Harry agreed.

"So how was it?"

"I can't explain it." He laughed again and shook his head. What was he feeling? This intensity and passion, it was overpowering. "It's so hard to explain." He felt so many emotions. "I just… feel so…" How could he make Draco understand? "Happy, I guess?" He shrugged helplessly. "Does that help?"

"Not really," Draco murmured. "But nothing we can do about that. You're hardly the articulate type."

Harry brushed that comment away easily. "Ah, well… It's hard to explain, that's all," he maintained. "And thanks for letting me have a go."

"I heard about the suspension."

"Yeah. That happened."

"Not very smooth on your part."

"I get tired of being smooth all the time," he said flippantly. "It's a tough job, being me."

"Mhm," Draco nodded in a patronizing manner. "I don't doubt it."

"So…"

"What?"

"Any reason you let me have a go?"

An abrupt smile flashed on Draco's face. "Can't you guess?" he asked.

Harry glanced off to the side as he thought hard. What did he have that Draco would want? Nothing, really. In fact, Draco had more of everything. More and more and more of it.

"Wait… You're trying to _do_ something, aren't you? With me?" he realized. "What are you up to?"

Draco examined his nails with avid interest. "There's a rumor coming down the grapevine," he murmured.

"What _sort_ of rumor?" Harry asked carefully.

"A surprising one."

"Aren't you going to tell me?"

"Don't you want to guess?"

He frowned at Draco. "Well, whatever you're planning on doing, I want no part of it. You make vile schemes, just like your father."

"Let's not drag family into this," Draco chided. "We all know what you and Uncle Sev think of Father. You've made it _excessively_ clear to me."

Harry pursed his lips and felt a _little _bit guilty. But not much. Lucius was the worst man ever and had the most regressive thinking bar none. He was part of the Wizengamot and exerted enormous amount of pressures towards laws that segregated half-creatures, rewarded pure blood families, and financially hurt muggleborns. He was a discriminatory, misogynistic, and demanding man.

Severus disliked his abuse of power.

Harry _hated_ the man with a passion.

He had made sure Draco knew exactly how he felt.

"Fine," he sighed. "You aren't _as_ bad as your father."

"Thank you."

"But I still want no part in this."

"Oh, you won't have a choice, Potter," Draco said smugly.

"In _what_?" he exclaimed. "I've got nothing to-" He broke off to stare at Malfoy's pleased expression. What did he have that Draco didn't have?

Nothing… _yet_.

"Oh no," he breathed. "Oh no, no, no."

"Have you figured it out?"

He had seen the signs. He had conveniently turned a blind eye to those signs, but the signs had been there all along. Why hadn't he realized it? "Th-that's-A-are you sure?" he stuttered.

Draco enjoyed watching Harry sweat more than he cared to admit. He was practically jumping for joy on the inside. "After the debacle yesterday, who knows what's going to happen. But I heard the news last week." He leaned back on his arms. "Why do you think Robards was so angry with you?"

"This is bad… This is so bad…"

"Really?"

Harry looked terrified at that moment. "I'll get everyone killed. No doubt about it. Everyone's going to die and I'm going to go to Azkaban and Professor's going to hex my teeth off and I won't be allowed to fly _ever again_… This is so bad."

"I don't think it's that bad," Draco said honestly. "You would make a strange Head Auror, but I'm sure you're good. Why else would they even consider you?"

Head Auror? Him? A _Head_ Auror? He would run the Ministry to the ground! He would knock over a _dozen_ holiday trees! He would break an arm and a leg and a rib every single week!

He would be a disaster!

"Robards has been talking about retiring for nearly two years now," Draco continued without paying attention to Harry's panic attack. "And all anyone talks about is how you caught some crook or solved some case. I don't know how you do it, Potter, but you have a way with people. It's infuriating, really. You aren't even trying_ to get ahead in life… responsibility… landing on your… manage to keep…"_

Harry blinked.

He was alone now. There was only blackness around him. Blackness and silence. Everything suddenly ceased to exist. He felt the emptiness against his skin and in his mind. Nothingness.

Terrifying emptiness.

"_You're not alone, Harry_."

The voice was a soft whisper, both calming and powerful at the same time.

"_This is an incredibly poignant time of your life. From this point onwards, your life will be everything you have ever imagined it to be – full of joy and love. You will never be alone. So do not fear this_."

A shard of white light burst through the blackness, shattering it silently.

"_But you have much to be thankful for._"

His heart sank into his stomach with a sickening lurch when he heard his mother's scream and saw a bright flash of green.

"_For if just a few men chose differently…_"


	5. The One With The Twist

He sank to his knees as disturbing images came into focus in quick succession – pictures of death, pain, suffering, blood, tears, sacrifices, and so much hurt. It didn't make sense. Sirius, dead. Albus Dumbledore, dead. Remus, Tonks, Fred…

Severus.

"_A different life, Harry. A different you, shaped by the events created by the choices of few who had incredible power. A different you who has seen too much sadness, felt too much torture, heard too many cries. A different you with scars and… a burden. A burden to get better, to live on, to be happy once more._"

Emptiness.

A heavy heart beat against his ribs. There was blackness again; the oppressive, helpless darkness that threatened to swallow his whole existence.

And he saw himself.

There, off to the side, standing alone in the blackness, he stood silently. To him, the emptiness was… welcome. To him, the silence was what he had been craving for years. To him, just a few seconds of not existing was perfect.

"No," Harry groaned as he watched himself fall backwards into soft nothingness.

"_It's alright_," the voice murmured.

"No, it's not," Harry cried out. He scrambled up and ran to his fallen body. When he touched his cheek, it felt cold as death. He was in so much pain. "Please," he begged. "Don't give up."

"_He hasn't given up… He wants to sleep for a little while._"

Harry looked up in uncertainly. "Sleep?" he echoed.

"_Yes. He hasn't slept in so long. Darkness is better than nightmares. Quietness is better than screams. He needs to dream for a little while. He hasn't given up. He is you. You wouldn't give up._"

He tilted his head down to look at himself. Only asleep. That's okay. Sleep will do him good. "Can I help him?" he asked. "Can I make it better for him?"

"_Of course. You can do more than you know, Harry._"

He jerked wildly and fell to what felt like a great distance…

Only to end up landing on a cold, stone floor.

He floundered like a drowning man for a few moments before slowing down upon realizing that he was done falling. He looked around wildly. He was in an enormously ornate office. He jumped up to his feet while quickly brushing down his clothes and peering at everything he could clap his eyes on. But when his hand brushed against soft, warm metal by his chest, he stopped to look down.

"WAAAAH!"

The heavy wooden door was pushed open frantically and a short, haggard young man in a crumpled grey suit appeared wide eyed and slack jawed. "S-sir?" he stammered. "A-are you alright?"

"Uh, uh, uh, I-uh, I-I fell asleep," Harry stuttered back. He looked down at himself once again. He was wearing the Head Auror badge. He was Head Auror. "Wait, where-" He stopped himself. "N-no, uh, wh-when-" He shook his head and cleared his throat. "What day is it?" he finally asked.

"Th-the twenty sixth. T-twenty sixth of December, s-sir."

So it was the same day.

"Right, of course," Harry said with a wave of his hand. "How could I forget?" Now to figure out who this unfamiliar character was. An assistant, no doubt. The fair-headed man looked like he could have a stroke at any moment. His cheeks were flushed and he wouldn't stop shaking. In fact, he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from clattering together. "Erm, are you ill?" Harry asked.

"N-no, sir," came the curt response.

He glanced around for a clock. "Know the time?"

The scrawny man lifted his clenched fist to peer at his wristwatch. "Nearly one in the afternoon, sir," he answered.

"Okay," Harry murmured slowly. He was starting to get worried for this man. He approached the doorway with gradual steps.

The assistant's eyes grew even wider when he realized what his boss was doing, but he seemed unable to move at all at that point. "S-sir?" he squeaked faintly.

"No, nothing," Harry mumbled so as not to startle him.

But perhaps he had managed to underestimate the power of his words.

His assistant suddenly bent over double and retched, spewing a meager lunch all over the carpet.

Harry quickly darted forward to catch the man before he could faint. He was shaking like a leaf. "Oh dear." He was crying, poor chap. "It's alright." Harry escorted his assistant to one of the chairs that sat in the middle of the spacious office. The man was blubbering and apologizing so rapidly that none of his words made any sense. Harry conjured up a glass of water. "Drink this."

"I-I'm sorry," the man hiccupped before downing the water in an instant.

"I know. It's okay." Harry pressed his hand against his assistant's forehead. "Ah, that doesn't feel good. On Christmas, no less." He glanced over at the mess on the floor and quickly flicked his wand at it to clear it up. "Do you think you can make it home on your own?"

"S-sir?"

"I mean, unless you want to take a moment to gather yourself," Harry added another option. "That's fine too."

The man blinked blankly.

"No?" Harry was at a loss. "You can rest _here_, I suppose, but I think it would be best if you went to a nurse or-"

"Oh!" He seemed to have suddenly caught on. "To rest, sir? I-I can go home. I'm sorry. I'll go home." He struggled to get up.

And as soon as he was on his feet, he was swaying dangerously.

Harry held him steady before he could drop like a dead weight. "So I guess that means you can't get home on your own." While the ill man started blubbering once more and apologizing with no end in sight, the Head Auror glanced around the room until he saw the nondescript fireplace standing opposite his expansive bookcase. "Here. We'll just use the Floo. Will it be open on your end? Is someone at home?"

"M-mother should have it o-open."

After a few tries, Harry managed to drag his assistant over to the fireplace where he found a bag of Floo Powder on the mantle. "Where do you live?" he asked. As soon as he made sure that he had the address right, he threw the powder in, spoke the address, and walked into the green flames.

They ended up in a flowery living room with white lace curtains and soft blue sofas.

To greet them was a small, plump woman in a white apron. Her expression quickly shifted from confusion to recognition to shock. "Lionel!" she gasped. "What's happened?" She hurried to her son's aid.

"He wasn't feeling well," Harry answered for Lionel who was lowering himself shakily on the couch.

Lionel's mother stopped short and turned to gape at Harry. "Wh-what are you-I… M-Mr. Harry Potter, sir," she managed to blurt out in fright. "I-I'm sorry. You didn't have to-" She suddenly turned to her son and started boxing his red ears. "I told you to call in sick," she hissed at him.

"It's fine," Harry quickly interjected before Lionel could burst into more tears. "Really, it's alright. He couldn't make it home on his own, that's all."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Potter," Lionel's mother expressed her genuine regret. "This must be such a nuisance. You must be so busy. Do you know what he said to me this morning?"

"Mum…"

"He says, 'Mr. Potter never calls in sick. So I can't call in sick either.' Kids these days, I tell you." She laughed nervously. Lionel cringed and kept his eyes on his lap.

Harry laughed nervously with her. "Er… Right. Well, I'm sure if I were to get as sick as you, I would take a sick day, Lionel," he said. He could see Lionel shrinking into himself.

"Always the worrier, my son."

"Mother, please…"

"Yes… So… I should go…" Harry trailed off until there was only awkward silence. When neither mother nor son deigned to speak, he took that as permission to leave. He made a quick exit through the Floo, back to his new office.

Once he was alone, he let out a shaky breath and looked around. So he was in the other Harry's life. He ventured towards the glass cabinet to look at his reflection. He appeared… older. He touched the lines on his forehead, trying to smooth it out. His hair was much shorter and he wore glasses instead of handy contact lenses. He examined his hands. So many scars…

He spun around to take another deep breath. He was going to start screaming now. He hoped no one would come running in again.

* * *

Harry inhaled sharply while blinking his eyes into focus. For a second he had felt as though he had fallen to a great depth. He wrapped an arm around his stomach instinctively, to physically reassure himself that he wasn't about to be sick.

Then he stared at Draco Malfoy in disbelief.

Draco stopped his mild taunting when he saw Harry's aghast expression. He tilted his head. "Are you even listening to me?" he asked.

Harry spun away, pressing a hand to his mouth as he flicked his eyes around the room rapidly. Where was he? He had been in his office finishing up that report for Kingsley. He must have fallen asleep.

"Harry."

He jumped and looked back at Malfoy, someone who hadn't entered his thoughts in many years. Yet here he was, dressed in a grey coverall that transportation technicians wore. "I was just picking on you," he said quietly. "You know you'll do fine, right?" He waited for an answer.

"Y-yes," Harry stuttered out upon finding his voice.

"Robards wouldn't just choose you if he didn't think you were ready," Draco continued. "He thinks you're most capable."

"I…"

"Besides," he smiled abruptly, "what's that you always say? 'I'm Harry Potter and I can do anything I want.' Right?"

Harry had never said that before. "Right…"

"So don't worry about it. You'll be a natural. Can you imagine how proud Uncle Sev would be of you? He might even say something nice. Imagine that." Draco snickered in an attempt to lighten the suddenly tense mood.

Harry had to get out of the room. "I should go," he said vaguely. He didn't listen for Malfoy's response. He hurried out the door. Hearing Malfoy speak so candidly and with ease was very unnerving. He needed to get into a saner space. He stopped short as soon as he had shut the door behind him. He was in the Department of Transportation. Why was he dreaming about _this_? He had to wake up. He needed to figure out what was going on. He had to get back to his office.

"There you are."

Before he had a chance to regroup, he was jerked aside by a sharp tug to his arm. He had no choice but to follow after voicing a startled yelp. He looked up at Chase in wonder, much too astonished to say a word of protest.

Chase, in the meantime, was a bit peeved. "I've been looking everywhere for you," he hissed at his partner. "You aren't even allowed to _set foot_ in this place. Are you _trying_ to get on Robards' nerves?" He pulled Harry around the edge of the testing area and stormed to the main doors. Only after exiting the Broom Closet did he stop. He let out a huge gush of air and whipped around to glare at the shorter man. "You said you weren't going to cause trouble again," he snapped. "Did you forget about your suspension?"

"Suspension?" Harry mumbled distantly.

"Or were you just trying to stir things up? For Merlin's sake, Harry, you _need_ to start following the rules." Chase threw his hands up in exasperation. "What are you staring at me for? Say something!"

Harry didn't know _what_ to say. Why was his subordinate yelling at him? What suspension? Robards had resigned years ago.

Also, if this was a dream, why did everything feel so real? He looked around him again. Nothing was amiss. There were no endless hallways or slithering snakes that often showed up in his nightmares.

"Are you alright?" Chase asked upon studying Harry for a beat. "Are you sick?" He reached up to press the back of his hand to his partner's forehead, only to still when he flinched back violently. "Hey-"

"I just need a minute," Harry blurted out before spinning around on his heel and practically running to the washroom around the corner.

Upon realizing that he had the loo to himself, he fumbled to get his wand out and lock the door so no one would get in. Now that he was in a private location, he was able to lean against a wall and take a moment to breathe. He closed his eyes as he struggled to recollect his last memories in his office. He had been cooped up in there for the past day trying to finish up paperwork. Holidays were the worst time of the year because his staff was away and the work kept pouring in. To avoid a mess in the coming weeks, he had decided to push through Christmas and finish up as much as he could before he was burnt out.

He _had to have_ fallen asleep. That _had_ to be it.

He kicked the tiled wall with the heel of his shoe and let out a quiet curse. He had to wake up.

He strode over to the sinks and turned on the squeaking taps. He didn't wait for the water to warm up. He cupped the cold water in his hands and washed his face. "Wake up," he muttered to himself. "Please wake up." He wiped his face with his sleeves and blinked the water from his lashes. "Ah," he gasped before shutting his eyes again. It felt like sand had gotten into them. He rubbed his scrunched up eyelids in an attempt to get rid of the discomfort. When it didn't help, he opened his eyes again and peered into the mirror.

"Gah!"

He jerked back. That wasn't him. This wasn't him at all! Where were his glasses? Why did he look so young? Why was his hair so long? Why did he have a piece of gauze stuck to the side of his head?

He looked down at his hands in wonder. He pulled his sleeves up. No scars. His left wrist was wrapped up in a tensor bandage. He backed up against the bathroom stall. "What the hell?" he breathed. This wasn't possible. He reached up to tug at his messy hair. He reached down to pat at his chest. He didn't have his Head Auror badge. If Robards was still around, then he couldn't be the Head Auror. Was he just a regular Auror right now? Had he gotten hurt? Was Chase his partner? What suspension? Why didn't this feel like a dream?

He hesitantly walked forward to the mirror again. This most certainly wasn't him. He pressed a hand to his cheek and another squished his nose. Sure, he looked sort of the same, but this wasn't _him_. This was someone else – some other Harry.

He paused.

Was that what this was? Was he some other version of himself?

He jolted when a short knock disturbed the sound of running water.

Chase had been pacing outside the bathroom for the past three minutes, growing more and more worried. He should have noticed that something was up with Harry right when he put up no argument to being told off. He should have noticed Harry's dazed expression and pale complexion. He was the worst partner ever.

So when Harry came out sheepishly, Chase was at his wit's end out of concern. "Are you ill?" he asked at once. "Maybe you should go down to the infirmary. Did you take your potions today? You know the nurse said you could feel nauseous from that. You shouldn't have come up here. You don't have to-"

"I'm fine," Harry interjected. "It's nothing. I just… had a long day yesterday."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You think you're alright to work? It's just reports and statements this week, so you won't have to move around much. How's your head?"

He unconsciously brushed his fingers against the damp gauze half-hidden by his hair. "It's fine." He hoped that was the case. "Sorry to scare you."

"You're always scaring me," Chase said under his breath.

Harry followed his partner downstairs without further conversation. He discreetly examined his wand as they weaved through the thin crowd in the corridors. This was most certainly his wand. It was a lot less beat up though. He rubbed his eyes again. He really needed to get the lenses out so he could wear some comfortable spectacles. If he was just a regular Auror, he probably had a pair in his locker. After that, he would have to figure out what had happened.

"What did your folks think about all the ruckus?" Chase wanted to know.

Harry wasn't sure what ruckus he was supposed to comment on. "Um…"

Chase glanced back at him with a vague smirk while gesturing at his head and arm.

"Oh, these," Harry realized quickly. He figured his 'folks' wouldn't have been too happy with him for getting hurt. Everyone always regarded him as precious porcelain in that aspect. "They weren't thrilled," he said.

"No doubt," Chase chuckled. "Well, I bet Sirius had something to gloat about though, huh?"

Harry stumbled. Sirius? Sirius Black? "H-how do you figure?"

"He practically throws you a party every time something like this happens, doesn't he? You were the one complaining about how embarrassing that is." Chase shook his head. "Sometimes I just think you're a glutton for punishment. But never mind that. I'll stop talking about your inadequacies now."

On the contrary. Harry wanted Chase to keep talking about his inadequacies. He had to learn more about this surreal world.

* * *

The Burrow was bustling with dinner sounds and squeals of playing toddlers. Molly had been scurrying in and out of the kitchen for hours to make sure everything was done perfectly. Her children would have to leave the next day to get on with their work and such, so she wanted to make sure they were plumped up beforehand. The house was still overflowing with Christmas cheer that was left over from the day before. Eggnog ran aplenty and Yuletide carols were crooning out of an old player. Everyone was dressed in Christmas sweaters that Grandma Molly had knitted painstakingly. Outside in the garden were snow forts and snowmen armies from last night, complete with crumbled snowballs and makeshift flags. Christmas at the Burrow lasted as long as possible.

Hermione was helping Hugo into his tiny snow boots by the muddy front hallway when she heard a faint knock. The boy blinked at his mother without taking his thumb out of his mouth. "Now who could that be?" she asked him. He shrugged. "Do you want to go open the door?" she pressed on. He shook his head and then proceeded to plop down on the floor. He'd rather feast on his thumb. She rolled her eyes at him while shaking her head before getting up off the stair to answer the door.

Her smile faded when she found herself facing Harry. "Wh-I-Didn't you… I thought you had work," she mumbled in confusion.

He smiled awkwardly.

She was quick to blink out of her bewilderment. "Ah, what am I saying?" she laughed, reaching out to tug him in. "Everyone's going to be thrilled." She gestured for him to take off his winter things and then left him in the foyer so she could get Molly.

Harry had had a very strange and enlightening day. He had locked himself in 'his' office for five hours and then rummaged through all of 'his' possessions. He didn't have to look too hard to find journals – loads of journals. He had been going over them all day long.

As he unwound his scarf and pocketed his gloves, he realized that little Hugo was staring at him without blinking. He jerked his brows at the boy. "Need some help?" he asked.

Hugo leaned back and lifted up his socked foot. "Shoe," he said simply.

"Ah, of course. Shoe."

"Mhm."

When Molly reached the front of the house with Hermione and Ron in tow, she was privy to Harry struggling to get Hugo fitted with his winter boot. "My goodness," he grunted. "You have the most uncooperative foot _ever_." Hugo giggled and wiggled his toes around to make it that much harder for Harry. "Oh, come on. You wanted help," he huffed.

"Wrong foot, Harry," Hermione murmured vaguely.

He paused and flicked his eyes from Hugo's left foot to the right shoe. "Oh."

Hugo fell backwards because this was all just too much for him to handle.

"I knew that," Harry blustered at the squealing boy. "I was just testing you."

"Here," Hermione cut in by kneeling down beside the two of them. "I've got it."

He narrowed his eyes theatrically at Hugo before getting up and brushing the mud off his hands. He was making a bad 'first' impression. He quickly turned to Molly with a bright smile. "Sorry I'm late," he said as she hugged him close. "I lost track of time at the office."

"You're just in time for dinner," Molly assured him. After letting go of him, she ushered him into the home.

Ron held him back a bit before they could walk into the dining room. "Hey, you alright?" he asked. Harry frowned inquisitively. His friend wasn't really looking at him. "You sounded… off yesterday. Everything fine at work?"

"A bit hectic," Harry murmured in an attempt to be as vague as possible. He wondered what 'sounded off' meant. "What did I sound like?"

Ron shrugged. "Just distracted. Whatever. It's okay." He gestured for Harry to go into the dining room. "I'll see if I can talk Hugo out of playing outside, hmm?"

"Okay…" Harry was unsettled by the exchange.

Actually, he had been unsettled ever since he opened the first of 'his' journals. The words did not paint a pretty picture. There was great unrest in 'his' mind. Each entry started with how his night had gone, mostly nightmares or lucid dreams. His life seemed to revolve around work. He hardly had anything written down about friends or family. He most likely never saw his friends and family… Perhaps being the Head Auror kept him busy but, more likely than not, he was purposefully avoiding them, limiting contact with them, removing himself from them.

No wonder he couldn't sleep.

He ventured into the dining room where he was quickly met with the rest of the Weasleys and their hugs. His eyes widened when he clapped eyes on Teddy. This wasn't a four-year-old brat he knew and loved. The boy must be Hogwarts age. Perhaps the war had sped Remus and Tonks' relationship up. "H-hey," he said as Teddy hugged him half-heartedly. This was weird, like he was seeing into a warped future. He didn't even get a chance to hug Teddy back because the boy had moved away already and gone back to the other children.

George tsked at Harry from across the table once they started to get themselves situated around the enormous meal. "What?" Harry asked.

"Poor form not showing up yesterday," the earless Weasley said plainly.

While Harry blushed, the rest of the family either glared at George or did one better by kicking him under the table. "It's fine, Harry," Arthur was quick to say in an attempt to ease the young man's _obvious_ unease. "It's always so busy this time of the year, especially for your department."

He wondered if Robards ever went home for Christmas. Did being Head Auror mean that you had to miss all the best parts of the year? He didn't say anything as he sunk into the chair and stared at his plate sheepishly. He would hate to miss Christmas. It was his favorite holiday and the most poignant since the first Christmas he could remember was a life changing one. When he would become Head Auror, he'd make sure there would be no crimes on Christmas. That way he could stay home and enjoy the day.

The other Harry probably felt really bad about missing yesterday.

Everyone soon settled down to eat. Hermione and Ron managed to dissuade their son from going outside. Hugo was made to sit with his sister and cousins at the children's table where he happily enjoyed mashed potatoes. The adults had their own conversations, most of the stories provided by Charlie and Bill. Who knows how many of those were made up? Each one sounded more fantastical than the one before. The brothers always liked to one up each other. There were tales of fighting dragons, shooting frost, and dagger wielding imps. Percy and Ron kept calling bull, which merely led their brothers to heckle them down boisterously so they could continue on with their anecdotes.

"Nothing beats exploding knickers," George proclaimed above everyone's arguments.

"Exploding vat?" Fleur gasped in reproach.

"Really, George," Molly tsked.

"They're all the rage," he said without paying them any heed. "You wear these beauties, simple and easy. When the time calls for it, _poof_! Your undies explode into white smoke just in time to impress."

There was silence in the room. Even the children had their mouths open. George looked at his family with an expectant grin, waiting for some sort of a response. But, honestly, how were they supposed to respond to that?

"Won't it look like you farted white smoke and blew your knickers right off your bum?" Harry wondered.

The children squealed with amusement while the adults tried to control themselves. George, however, appeared put off. "Well, it does need a few adjustments," he grumbled. "Not perfect yet. Probably need to rethink the sound effect."

"Goodness, Harry," Hermione chuckled. "You have a strange imagination."

"Yeah…" He had been told that before. At that moment, he was just glad that he had made them laugh, albeit at George's expense. He didn't feel _too_ bad about that. Fred and George _always_ laughed at other's expenses. "It would make a great gag gift," he conceded. "You should give one to Ron."

The table went quiet again.

He glanced at Ron nervously. "Um…"

"Wait," Ron mumbled. "George…"

"Ah, well, you see." George shifted in his seat. "Sharing is caring, right?"

"GEORGE!" the Weasley brothers shouted.

"You're _all_ wearing it?" Arthur exclaimed before becoming overcome with laughter. "Oh dear."

"Why would you wear anything George gifts you?" Molly sighed. The children were practically falling over their food from how hard they were giggling.

George proceeded to get pelted with a dozen dinner rolls before Molly put an end to the food fight. "And here I thought he was giving out practical presents for once," Percy muttered under his breath.

"What have we told you about using family as guinea pigs?" Arthur asked.

"Don't do it," George answered glumly. "Man, Harry ruins everything."

"No _way_," Harry blurted out. "You ruined it all by yourself. I didn't do anything. You shouldn't even have talked about it. You should have just waited for them to fart white smoke. It's all about execution. Fred's always been better at-" He bit his tongue hard to silence himself. Fred wasn't around anymore. "Ah, sorry," he added quickly, but that only made his faux pas more glaring.

An awkward silence followed as everyone tried to gloss over his comment and return to their meal. That was the worst thing he could have done. No one looked at him.

No one but George.

"Fred's always been better at what?"

Harry met George's slightly vulnerable gaze.

He had never encountered death so personally before. His parents had died when he was so young. He never felt as though anything was missing in his life. He had a caring mentor and incredible friends. Death was such a far off concept to him. Yet, here he was faced with the consequences of a heavy loss. Fred was George's best friend. They were attached at the hip. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose someone so close to him. "Fred's… always been better at pulling pranks," he hesitated. "You're just too nice."

George stared at Harry for a beat before smiling. It wasn't a particularly happy smile, but it was genuine. "I am, aren't I?" he murmured.

Harry had to look away. His throat itched, his eyes burned and everything was so wrong. Why did things have to be so wrong here? Why was there so much hurt and sadness here? Why so many scars? Because of Voldemort? It just wasn't fair. Why did Fred have to die?

He excused himself from the table. He needed some air if he was to pull himself together. He could tell that the wound was still fresh for the family. He should have watched his words. He was never one to think before he spoke. Severus had always chided him, and sometimes praised him, for that quality. Now would have been a good time to stay silent.

He glanced over his shoulder reflexively when the door opened.

George tilted his head at Harry. "Aren't you cold?"

"N-no."

"You don't have to come down on yourself," he said as he stepped out as well. "You didn't say anything bad."

"But you felt bad, didn't you?" Harry asked.

"Everyone feels bad when Fred's brought up."

That was only natural. No one felt good talking about dead family members. "I'm sorry. I… Discretion is… I don't… I wasn't thinking."

"I don't mind it when people talk about Fred," George divulged. "I like hearing it, even if it makes me feel bad. It's good that people remember him."

"Hard to forget him when his identical twin's hanging around."

He slowly looked over at Harry. "What did you say?"

Harry hung his head in defeat. He really couldn't keep up with himself, even when he dug his own grave. "Nothing," he mumbled. "You're hearing things."

"I must be," George snickered. "Sheesh. Damaged your filter or what?"

"Yeah. We'll say that."

"Are you done punishing yourself?"

"Mhm."

George tugged him inside and cast a quick warming spell on him so he would stop shivering like a maniac. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets to heat up his fingertips. "Hey, George?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"I think Fred would be proud of you for pulling that off."

George beamed. "Well, now I've got to watch for slugs in my coffee and toads in my bed, so he had _better_ appreciate it."

The dining room was filled with expectant silence when they walked back in. Harry sat down in his chair and picked up his knife and fork, keeping his embarrassed head down. He was used to making a scene, but this one really took the cake.

"He wanted to try on those knickers," George said without skipping a beat.

Hermione sputtered into her cup.

"Surprisingly comfortable," Harry added quietly.

Ron snorted and the table was reduced to tears.

After dinner, the family gathered in the living room for dessert, games, and more stories. Harry, Fleur, and Audrey had somehow gotten roped into play with the children who had set up a colorful board in the middle of the room and assigned playing pieces to everyone. Ron and Hermione were helping Molly plate dessert in the kitchen. Charlie and Bill were badgering George about his exploding underwear. The rest of them were sitting on the couches drinking sweet coffee.

"Something's different about Harry, right?" Hermione asked her husband.

"Yeah," Ron agreed wholeheartedly. "What's up with him?"

"He didn't say anything to me."

"Good day at work?"

"Hmm…"

Meanwhile, Harry was trying ever so hard to understand the rules of the game, but kept messing up so badly that he was threatened with expulsion. "I don't get it," he whined for the umpteenth time.

Teddy finally sighed loudly. "Fine. We'll play together." He scooted over to sit on Harry's side of the board. "You're supposed to be smart," he added under his breath.

"I _am_ smart," Harry muttered under his breath as well. "I'm smarter than _you._"

Teddy kept silent and snatched the cards off the floor. Harry was stumped by that reaction. The Teddy he knew would have dealt a good whack against his head for that comment. He leaned over and whispered, "You really think I'm smarter than you?"

Teddy pretended to be busy while sorting through the cards.

Harry wasn't used to being ignored by his godson. "Good," he instigated. "I _am_ rather smart."

Teddy shrugged him off. "Okay, Vicky. You start this round."

Each round lasted about ten to fifteen minutes. Harry tried to keep up with all the card exchanges and speed drawings, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the game. On top of that, Teddy wouldn't explain what he was doing. When it was his turn to roll the dice, he would do just that and then move his piece without telling Harry. After two rounds, Harry decided that enough was enough.

He poked Teddy's side irritably when the boy rolled for the tenth time. "What's going on?" he hissed. "Tell me."

"See? You aren't smart at all."

"I _am_ smart. This is a stupid game," he muttered.

"Just watch," Teddy huffed.

"I've been watching for half an hour."

Their conversation was being held in hushed whispers, so their playmates couldn't make anything out except for their annoyed moods and mirroring frowns.

"If you were watching hard enough, you'd know how to play," Teddy snapped.

"Maybe I don't want to learn this stupid game."

He sat up without warning and shoved Harry. "_You're_ stupid!"

The room grew quiet all of a sudden. Only then did he realize what he had done. He paled and jerked his arms to his side when he felt everyone's eyes on him.

Harry was oblivious, however.

He shoved Teddy in retort and said, "I'm not stupid. _You're_ stupid, stupid."

Teddy scrambled to stand up with his hands at his hips. "You take that back."

Harry crossed his arms against his chest. "I'm not taking anything back." He harrumphed. "I don't want to play your _stupid_ game."

"_You_ bought me this _stupid_ game!"

"Because it's for _stupid_ people!"

"BOYS!"

They whipped their heads around to look at Molly who was shaking her head in disbelief. Teddy quickly sat himself down and tried to look as innocent as little Hugo who was watching all this with his mouth wide open while Harry rearranged his frown into a blameless expression. "What in heaven's name are you two doing?" she declared.

"He started it," they said in unison while pointing their fingers at each other. Then they gasped theatrically. "No, _you_ started it!" They huffed and puffed for a couple seconds.

Teddy was quick to come up with a solution. He turned towards the other children and prompted loudly, "Uncle Harry started it, right?"

"No _way_!" Harry pulled Teddy back. "_He_ started it! You guys saw him!"

"_You_ were whining about the game!"

"Because you weren't helping me!"

"Because you're too dumb to understand!"

"I'm Harry Potter!"

Teddy snapped his teeth together abruptly. "Being Harry Potter has nothing to do with it," he bit out.

"It does if you're Harry Potter," Harry maintained. "I win everything by default."

Teddy grabbed the cushion he had been lying on and smacked his godfather over the head with it. Harry snatched the cushion out of the boy's hand without a word and proceeded to bop him in the face.

"PILLOW FIGHT!" Victoire screamed as she jumped up to grab her cushion before her mother could stop her.

Soon there were flying pillows and falling children everywhere, as well as echoing shrieks of giggles once the pillow fight turned into a tickle fight. It wasn't long before Teddy had mobilized the ranks, causing the children to gang up on Harry who was cowering on the ground with his arms over his head. They wouldn't stop until he was begging them to let him go between wheezing laughs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he panted and squirmed in an attempt to get away from their expert tickling fingers. "You win, I lose and all that. I'm sorry! _Please_ stop!"

After a minute of hearing his godfather grovel, Teddy called off the dogs. He stood over Harry with a smug smile plastered on his face. "_You're_ the stupid one, right?"

"Yes, yes. I'm very, very, very stupid," Harry conceded.

"And what else?" Teddy knelt on the rug and piqued a brow.

"I'm sorry I whined."

"And?"

"I'm sure you're only a _tiny_ bit stupider than me."

Teddy smiled in defeat and bent down to knock his head against Harry's. "You're being way too silly today, Uncle Harry," he whispered.

"Must be the exploding knickers," Harry whispered back. "I'm sorry I missed Christmas."

"It's okay." He stroked Harry's forehead. "You're here today, so it's okay."

Victoire crawled over to them, asking, "What're you two talking about now?"

"We're bonding, Victoire," Harry said importantly. "No girls allowed."

"I'm a boy!" Hugo shouted. He waddled over and threw himself at Harry, wanting to get in on the fun as well.

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other with amazed smiles. Something was _definitely_ different about Harry. Since when did he know how to handle children?

After Molly had sufficiently scolded all of them into quieting down, they decided to play dumb charades, something everyone could play. Teddy stuck close to Harry all night long and, by proxy, so did the other kids. Hugo even decided to sleep on Harry's lap as ten struck.

"I've got him," Ron murmured. He gently plucked his son off of Harry's lap. "You should get going, right? Work tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Harry got up off the floor with some effort. Work. Now that was going to be interesting. He ruffled Teddy's hair. "I'll come by Andy's place tomorrow, alright?"

"Okay," Teddy beamed.

Harry didn't actually get out of the Burrow until around eleven after lengthy goodbyes. Hermione somehow talked him into lunch the following weekend. George thumped his back a few times before hugging him. Molly and Arthur made him promise to visit on New Year's Day. By the time he got to 12 Grimmauld Place, he was tuckered out from the long and emotional day.

He opened the door with a touch of his wand. Inside was strained silence, something he wasn't used to at the Black residence. Whenever he visited Sirius, there was always music to greet him. Every single light would be on. And he would always hear Sirius tinkering with something in a corner of the house. But the home was empty in this universe. No one lived there but him. He had gathered as much from the journals.

He flicked on the lights in the living room. He was too scared to go up the stairs by himself. He fashioned himself a small cot out of the couch and didn't bother changing before sliding under the covers. He was sleepy as all hell and he needed to wake up at six in the blasted morning because he had to be at work by half past seven. How did the other Harry do it? Damned if he knew. He left the lights on and hugged a pillow close, pretending it was Scout. Tomorrow was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

Harry stared up at 12 Grimmauld Place. The lights were on. He folded his arms against his stomach, steeling himself. What should he be expecting once he walked in? Before he could lose his nerve, he touched the tip of his wand to the door, unlocking it.

Loud music blared through the foyer. And everything looked so different… The corridor was lit up with bright, floating candles, scent of a consumed dinner wafted through the home, and there was no cold draft. He was so used to the cold draft in this place.

"Harry?"

His heart skipped a beat. He recognized that voice. It brought back a flood of memories he had been suppressing. His throat was closing up from long overdue panic.

Sirius peeked around the wide opening that led into the dining room. "Didn't know you were dropping in," he smiled. "Want a Butterbeer?"

Harry pursed his lips as tears filled his eyes. His chest ached fiercely. He turned away so he could wipe his cheeks somewhat inconspicuously. To see such a familiar and friendly face… "Yeah," he croaked. A moment later he was wrapped up in a tight hug. He hid his tears against Sirius' shoulder. He was going out of his mind…

* * *

**A/N:** And so it begins!


	6. The One With Teddy

**A/N:** Each jump cut is a new scene happening in the other dimension, i.e. first scene is in the parallel universe, the second scene is in the normal universe, third in the parallel and so on.

* * *

Harry was pulling his hair out by ten while trying to make sense of the dozens of exasperatingly confusing documents he had to sign off on. There were budget reports, status of criminals, court orders, warrants, and meeting minutes. The other Harry seemed to have a very strange system of leaving things on his messy desk in an awfully random order so that no one could make sense of the way he worked. Now this Harry was trying furiously to get through all the crap. He was attempting to slip out of councils, mumble vaguely when questioned by Lionel who was doing a bit better now, and keep his calm through the madness of the day.

Even with the reduced workload, he was on his third cup of coffee as he hurried away from the lawyers downstairs with an armful of parchment rolls that he had to read through before writing up charges on the perps his team had caught over the past week – his team that he hadn't even met yet…

He growled to himself. How on Earth did Robards do it? Did he have ten arms or what? He could hardly concentrate on his tasks as is, let alone have to manage books, reprimands, public requests, and Wizengamot demands. There weren't enough hours in the day to be a Head Auror.

It also did not help that when he rounded the corner by his office, he was struck head on, causing the papers in his hands to drop with flourish and his cup of coffee to tip all over him.

"Ah!" he hissed as he was burned. He grabbed for his wand to clean himself up before the coffee could hurt him too badly. "What the _fuck_?" he swore as soon as he was out of any imminent danger.

Draco Malfoy blinked at him in shock.

"Watch where you're going," Harry snapped furiously. Draco didn't respond. That simply managed to infuriate him. "Well? Aren't you going to pick these up?" he demanded while gesturing at the parchments on the ground.

Draco looked down at them but didn't move.

Harry clicked his tongue in exasperation. "Of course not," he muttered with a flick of his hand before kneeling down to shuffle the papers together into a haphazard pile. As Draco shuffled back to leave, Harry added, "You owe a bloody coffee," under his breath. He heard Draco falter, but that was it. The man walked away without so much as lifting a finger to help him with the mess. Harry gritted his teeth. Typical Malfoy. Always on his damned high horse. Won't lift a finger for anyone. Stupid idiot with no-

He pulled back slightly when a helping hand reached down to gather some of the reports that had rolled across the corridor. He looked up to find himself face-to-face with Chase. His heart jumped to his throat in fright. "Ah, shit," he greeted without thinking.

Chase responded with a strange smile. "Hello," he responded. "Need help carrying these, sir?"

Right. This wasn't the same Chase. "No, no, it's fine," Harry answered with a quick shake of his head. Sir. That sounded strange. He took the parchments out of Chase's outstretched hand. So awkward. "Erm, how was Christmas?" he asked lamely.

"Fine. And yours, sir?"

_His_ Christmas was great, but 'his' Christmas was vastly different. "I was here."

"Of course."

Of course… "Well… Keep up the good work," he said before scurrying away so he could stop making a fool out of himself.

Chase stared after him in amazement, not quite understanding what had just happened. He glanced back at the lounge where some of his team had been eavesdropping and peeking out from behind the partially open door. He shrugged in an unsure manner. They had heard the commotion from inside the break room and had, upon investigation, found their boss dressing down Malfoy so openly. And now he was making small talk with his underlings? Christmas miracle.

* * *

Stifling heat was what he woke up to. He could hardly open his eyes, and when he did he couldn't keep them open because of the bright light in the room.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" he answered blearily while turning his head. A dry tongue ran along his cheek, making him wince. He raised a heavy hand, accidentally bumping it against a small body.

"You got sick, Harry," Teddy whispered into his godfather's ear while Scout kept on licking enthusiastically. "Are you okay now?"

With a sharp inhale Harry jolted upright, toppling both the child and dog off of his chest. Where was he? He struggled to breathe as he looked around wildly. He had dreamt the most awful things. He jerked his hands out in front of him and frantically examined them. No scars. "No, no, no, no," he breathed in horror. He rubbed the back of his right hand fiercely, trying to bring the writing back. "Please wake up," he mumbled to himself. "Please, please, please-"

Gentle touches against his shoulders pushed him back onto the pillows.

"It's only a bad dream," Remus reassured kindly. "You're alright. Just getting over a fever, that's all." He glanced at his son while raising a derisive brow. "I told you to be gentle with him."

Teddy pouted and twisted his fingers in front of his stomach, appearing guilty. "Sorry," he murmured. "I thought, I thought he would be _happy_ if he saw me and Scout. I thought he would. Because, because he says he's _always_ happy when he sees me. _And_ Scout. So I thought, I thought he would be _happy_. I thought that."

Harry closed his eyes tight. He felt sick to the stomach. He hated dreaming about things like this. It hurt too badly. He just wanted to wake up.

"What part of 'let him rest' is so difficult for all of you to understand?"

He scrambled upright once again, this time in disbelief.

He blinked at Severus Snape.

This was new…

The Potions professor was glaring at Teddy and Scout, greatly displeased by their antics. Teddy slunk back sheepishly and Scout attempted to hide under the bed. Remus allowed himself a faint smile, not at all fazed by Severus' irritation. The man was _always_ irritated, after all.

Harry stared in amazement as Snape approached the bed. "Isn't it about time you grew out of your melodramatics?" the professor murmured low enough so his words stayed between them. He had a few vials in his hands. He held them out carelessly. "Blue for the temperature, white for the delirium, and red for rehydration. No tantrums. You've caused enough trouble already."

Harry reached out in a daze to take the potions.

"Well," Remus said cheerily, "he's rather obedient today, isn't he?"

Severus didn't even bother acknowledging that quip. He was silently ordering Harry to drink the medicine. Harry was quick to obey, flicking his eyes down and uncorking the vials with his trembling fingers so he could down the bitter potions in quick gulps while fighting hard not to gag. He didn't even think of arguing. Once he was done, he handed the empty vials back hesitantly.

Severus took them and pocketed them, but his expression did change from annoyance to something akin to concern. "Hmm." He reached down, but Harry shied away, so he pulled his hand back just as easily. "You should lie down. Rest," he said. Harry complied again. "Good." Severus examined him for a beat longer before sweeping away towards the doorway. "You two are coming with me," he added scathingly right before he walked out into the corridor. Teddy and Scout looked miserable as they dragged themselves after the professor, about to get a stern scolding if history was any indication of things to come.

Remus chuckled to himself and shook his head. "Troublemakers, huh?" He went and sat beside Harry again. "Feeling better now?" he asked. "Sirius is trying to fix up some soup for you. He's getting a bit too excited down there. He's never had to take care of a sick kid before." He winked good-naturedly. "He's really glad you came here instead of going to Severus. And…" He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "I've got to say, Severus seems a bit peeved by your choice too." He laughed again. "Anyhow, I'll go see if Tonks and Sirius have managed to blow things up yet." He patted Harry's arm. "Food will be ready in a few minutes. Water's on the table." He strolled out of the room, closing the door gently behind him before sliding his hands into his pockets and making his way downstairs where commotion was quickly brewing.

The living room was a wreck as Scout and Teddy decided to use various pillows to play tug-of-war. Severus had most likely isolated them in one area so they would stop pestering everyone else. Remus knew it would be a lost cause to make the two of them stop and sit down, so he let them be and made his way into the kitchen where there was even more chaos.

"That's too much salt!" Tonk yelped as she grabbed Sirius' hand and yanked it away from the boiling pot of chicken broth. "Taste it first, Paddy!" Sirius responded with a low grunt. Severus was leaning against the counter, keeping a close eye on the ingredients being thrown into the large pot, just in case he had to step in and stop the two dolts from poisoning Harry. There were messily chopped celery and carrots on the cutting board, splashed broth on the floor, and a smelly ginger concoction brewing off to the side.

"He's awake now," Remus thought to tell Sirius, who immediately stopped his struggling with Tonks. "He will take his soup upstairs."

"Yes, yes," Sirius nodded wildly. "Once Tonks stops meddling." He threw a dirty look at the small woman who stuck her tongue out in retort. "I am perfectly good at making a bit of soup!" he exclaimed for the umpteenth time. "Go away!"

"Yes," Severus drawled. "You should probably tend to your vagrant child. He is tearing up the couch with that mutt."

"What?" Tonks gasped. She looked at Remus for confirmation and he shrugged apologetically. "For Merlin's sake," she hissed under her breath, stalking off to subdue Teddy and Scout. She elbowed her husband for good measure as she passed by.

"Oof," Remus groaned quietly as his ribs protested. He rubbed the side of his chest and made his way to the stove to give the soup a tentative whiff. "Doesn't smell so bad, does it?" he noted.

"Of course it doesn't!" Sirius huffed. "This is incredibly insulting. All of you come into my house and start badgering me over a bit of _soup_? Harry's not _dying_ or anything. He just has a sore throat. Get off my back. It's like you don't have anything better to do." He glowered at Severus pointedly after saying as much. The man brushed it off without care. The two of them never did see eye to eye. In fact, the _only_ reason they tolerated each other was because of Harry.

Harry was also pitting them against each other.

There was no winning with them. Remus just shrugged. "I'll take this up to him," he offered while conjuring up a bowl and spoon.

"I'll do it," Sirius butted in. He was quite obviously frustrated. He ladled the hot soup and stuck a spoon in the bowl before glaring at the two other men in the kitchen and marching away.

Remus brushed the splashed soup off of his hands, glancing at Severus out of the corner of his eye. "Couldn't you at least try to be civil today? For Harry's sake?" he asked mildly.

Severus gritted his teeth. "Let him know I've shown myself out," he muttered. He pushed off the counter and swept past without another word. Remus cringed when he heard the front door slam shut no more than ten seconds later. He had struck a wrong chord with the professor. As always.

Sirius knocked at the door twice before opening it. He found Harry lying down, staring up at the ceiling blankly. That image didn't settle with him. Harry was almost never contemplative. "Alright?" he asked in an attempt to snap his godson out of his reverie.

Harry started and struggled to sit up, appearing bewildered and contrite as he did so. Sirius approached him carefully and held the bowl of soup out without a word. Harry grabbed it in his shaky hands. It nearly splashed over the edge, but he had it balanced on his lap before that happened. He then kept his eyes on the swirling broth, watching the chopped vegetables bob around.

Sirius suddenly found the silence stifling. Around Harry, there had never been silence. He laughed awkwardly while pulling up a chair and sitting down by the bed. "You had Snape all worried there," he remarked for the lack of anything better to say. "You had me a bit worried too." He gestured at the bowl. "Eat up. It's not that bad."

Harry nodded and started sipping on the soup bit by bit.

"I guess it's just that you never get sick, you know," Sirius continued on. He leaned back to get more comfortable. "Even if you do, you don't tell _us_ about it. But it's alright to come over when you aren't feeling well, okay? I won't mind at all. I know Snape is probably better at taking care of you and all, but I'm not _too_ irresponsible… Am I?" he faltered.

Harry finally smiled. "No." He shook his head. "You're great."

"Yeah. I am pretty great."

"The best."

"That's pushing it," Sirius joked. He was glad to see Harry becoming his normal self again. "Anyway, I let your coworkers know that you were sick. Chase said it was most probably because you did more work in one day than you have in a month." He smirked. "You were trying to get that suspension lifted, weren't you? Trying to get on your boss' good books, eh?"

"No, I… Not really." Harry cleared his throat, keeping occupied by quickly shoveling more soup into his mouth. Sirius was talking about all the Auror paperwork that had been filed away in a matter of six hours the day before. Chase had been befuddled when he checked up on his partner and saw that a pile of reports had been completed studiously. Only when Harry heard the stunned exclamation had he realized that the other Harry was a sloppy coordinator with a short attention span. By then it was too late to rectify things. Chase had been extremely suspicious.

Now he could only imagine what everyone at the office was thinking.

He paused.

Why would _he_ care what everyone was thinking? This wasn't even _his_ life.

This wasn't his life…

He looked up at Sirius. "I-I'm glad you're here," he stammered. "Thank you."

Sirius raised his brows in surprise. "Ah, you're welcome," he hesitated. "Of course I'll be here for you. Where else would I be?"

Harry couldn't say. He felt that ache in his chest again. He had to force himself to breathe normally despite his constricting throat. "I… think I scared Teddy," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't worry about that brat," Sirius chuckled. "He doesn't like seeing his big brother get sick, that's all."

Big brother… Harry hadn't seen Teddy in about two weeks. Not even for Christmas. Guilt was welling up in him again. This Teddy was different for his Teddy. This Teddy was younger. He didn't know of loss. His parents were alive. He led a full life. But his Teddy was… hurting. And it hurt him to see the boy that way. He couldn't bear to see the boy that way. He couldn't bear to make the boy any sadder.

Did his Teddy think of him as a big brother too? Or was he just another person indebted to his parents?

"You should rest here today," Sirius insisted. "Scout's welcome, of course. I think you have had a little too much excitement over the holidays, don't you?"

* * *

"You have _no_ idea what kind of a day I'm having," Harry moaned as he collapsed on the sofa beside Teddy. "You have to be nice to me today."

Teddy smiled at his godfather. "I'm _always_ nice to you, Uncle Harry," he said, and then looked down to continue on with the book on his lap.

Harry clicked his tongue. "Why do you call me 'Uncle Harry'?" he wanted to know.

Teddy glanced up at him, surprised. "Pardon me?"

"Why do you call me '_Uncle_ Harry'? Am I that old?"

"Uh…"

"Why not just 'Harry'?"

"Because you… I'm… You're my… It would be weird," Teddy finally mumbled half-heartedly.

"I call you 'Teddy,' don't I?" Harry argued.

"That's not the same. You're older than me and you're my godfather, so I have to call you 'Uncle Harry'," Teddy maintained.

"Ack, I don't like it."

"You never said anything before."

"Well, I'm saying it now, aren't I?"

"I can't just change what I call you."

"You should try. Just call me 'Harry' from now on."

"I _can't_."

"How old are you?"

Teddy scowled into the open pages. "Nine."

"And I'm twenty six," Harry said smugly.

"So?"

"We're only seventeen years apart."

"So?"

Harry sputtered. "So? _So_? I'm _hardly _qualified to be an _uncle_. That's what's _so_. I'm too youthful."

"Yeah, right," Teddy scoffed.

Harry snatched the book out of the boy's hands. "What are you reading in any case?" He turned it over so he could look at the cover. "Ah, a mystery. I love mysteries too. Is this any good?"

"Uncle Harry."

"What?"

Teddy looked at him plainly. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Now why would you ask that?" Harry cocked his head to the side.

"Why are you talking so much?"

"You want me to shut up? That's not a very nice thing to say," Harry frowned.

"I didn't say it," Teddy shrugged as he grabbed the book back and got a more secure grip on it. "_You_ did." He tried to go back to reading it.

But Harry was relentless. He hooked a finger under his godson's chin and made him look up. "Now what's so wrong about talking, huh?"

Teddy tsked. "There's nothing _wrong_ with talking," he mumbled. "You just never do it, that's all."

"Maybe you never listen," Harry countered. "Ever thought of _that_?"

"I _do_ listen!" the boy blustered. "I listen to _everybody_. You're the one who's never around! If I don't ever listen, then how would I know that you made Ginny cry when you…" He trailed off when he saw the expression on Harry's face. He had blurted out something terrible. He had said something that no one wanted to hear. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered rapidly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Made Ginny cry?" Harry echoed. "I wouldn't… She…"

He would _never_ make Ginny cry. But maybe the other Harry would. Why would he do that?

Teddy felt awful. He wanted to take back everything he had said. Just looking at Harry's distant expression made him sick. "I'm sorry," he apologized. His voice was shaking. "I didn't mean to say that. I didn't…"

Harry blinked out of his thoughts when Teddy's words registered in his mind and he realized that the boy was getting upset. He forced his troubled expression away with some difficulty and managed a sardonic smile. "Oh, so you'll call _her_ 'Ginny', but you won't call _me_ 'Harry'? You know she's only a year younger than me, don't you?" he nagged.

Teddy groaned in dismay and hid his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he croaked. "I know you said I had to be nice to you today and I didn't mean to make you feel bad." Everything started spilling out of him, especially when Harry pulled him closer into a warm hug. "You're always trying so hard to be happy and I'm always making you sad. I didn't mean to say that. I didn't. I'm sorry. I-I'll call you 'Harry', okay?"

"Okay, okay," Harry murmured. He was shocked by the sudden meltdown. Teddy was never supposed to cry. "It's okay. I'm not sad. You can't make me sad, Teddy. I love you so much, don't I?"

That only managed to set Teddy off even more.

Andromeda came rushing into the study when she heard her grandson wailing. She found him nestled in Harry's arms, crying his little heart out while his godfather tried unsuccessfully to calm him down. "Oh dear," she gasped. She rushed over to them. "Teddy? Sweetheart? What's wrong?" she asked. "Come here."

"N-no," Teddy refused vehemently. He held onto Harry as tight as he could. "No." He couldn't get any other words out because of how hard he was heaving.

"He's okay," Harry assured Andy. "He will be okay." He hoped he was telling the truth. He was struggling to hold back his own tears at that point. He hated seeing others in pain. He titled his head down, pressing his lips against Teddy's ear. "Now I've made _two_ people cry," he whispered.

"YOU'RE SO MEAN!" Teddy howled.

* * *

Teddy giggled while swinging his legs over the seat of the chair that was much too big for him. "You're being so _quiet_," he teased. "That's funny." He then lifted a finger and pressed it against his lips. "Sh. I'll be quiet too," he whispered. "But it's going to be _really_ hard."

Harry shook his head in amazement while smiling. "You don't have to be quiet," he told the boy. "I don't like it when you're quiet."

"Really?" Teddy brightened up even more. "Great! I'm _very_ bad at keeping quiet. Mummy says that _all_ the time." When he talked, his hands moved almost as much as his tongue. His arms were thrown about wildly, often coming very close to striking nearby objects, including the tumbler on the beside table and the back of the wooden chair he was perched on. Harry found him very amusing and juvenile. He wasn't used to Teddy being that way. "And you know what else? Daddy says I can sleep over today! Hurray!" He raised his fists in the air and shook them triumphantly. "Don't tell Mum!" he added with just as much enthusiasm. He started leaning forward while keeping his feet on the footrest until he was tipping dangerously onto the edge of the bed. Harry quickly caught him before he could somehow topple onto the floor. In a matter of seconds, Teddy had sequestered a spot beside him. "I'll read you a book, Harry," he said importantly. "I'm getting better now. I like reading. Just like you, right?"

"Well…"

"And I made sure Scout went potty outside. He's just a baby. I _love_ Scout! I'm glad I get to play with him. Don't you love Scout?"

"Mhm."

"You're getting better, aren't you?"

"I think so."

"Because you're drinking your potions, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good boy." Teddy patted Harry's head. "You have to be a good boy to get better. Mummy says-"

"Teddy?"

"Hmm?"

Harry brushed his thumb against the boy's warm cheek. "You're pretty incredible. Do you know that?" he mumbled.

Teddy grinned and blushed. "Aw. You're so silly," he gushed.

"You're making me feel so much better today. Honest."

He tried to burrow into the messy bedspread, that's how embarrassed he was. He curled up close to Harry and refused to show his face. "Silly Harry." His voice was muffled under the sheets. "I make you feel better _everyday_."


	7. The One With Draco Malfoy

"S-sir?"

Harry inhaled sharply and sat up, garbling, "I'm awake." He had to blink rapidly to figure out where he was. "Oh, it's you," he sighed when he recognized Lionel and sagged into his seat. Then he jerked upright again. "Ah! What time is it? I fell asleep!"

Lionel was still coming to grips with his boss who seemed to be suffering from multiple personality disorder. "Uh, um, it's alright, sir," he said rapidly to appease Harry who was fumbling clumsily around on his desk to push together all the papers he needed for his first meeting. "You still have a half-hour."

"Oh, thank goodness," Harry breathed. He sagged into the chair once again. His spectacles were giving him a massive headache. "I really need a coffee…"

"Black?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll get it from downstairs," he said. "I need the walk." He got up gingerly and stretched his cramped back. "That's got to be the most uncomfortable piece of furniture I've ever sat in," he added. "Is your chair comfortable, Lionel?"

"Uh… Yes?"

"Hmm." He never knew with his assistant. The man said things just to keep his boss happy. So he decided to see for himself. He got up and walked around Lionel to the door.

Lionel was too stunned to do anything for a moment. But when he realized what the Head Auror was doing, he jumped and rushed behind him. "Sir?" he stuttered.

Harry went out into the waiting area where a row of seats sat against one wall and Lionel's desk stood by another. He took a moment to scrutinize the plain chair behind the meticulous table. It didn't seem to have much cushioning. He wound around the desk and took a seat, leaning back experimentally to test its springiness.

Lionel was wringing his hands in dismay, becoming more and more certain that Mr. Potter had gone mad.

"It's not comfortable at all," Harry frowned. "It even creaks. See?" He rocked back and forth to illustrate his point. Sure enough, a rough groan emitted from the legs as it protested the movement. "We should get new chairs. I'm the Head Auror and all. The least they could do is give us nice chairs."

"I-I'm fine with this one," Lionel insisted. "You don't have to bother, Mr. Potter."

"Nonsense." Harry tried spinning around. "It doesn't even spin properly," he remarked. "If you need something, you shouldn't hesitate to ask, Lionel. It's how you get things done. And what's the harm in asking? The worst they can do is say 'no' to us." He stopped spinning. "Besides, they'll agree for sure." He smiled brilliantly. "Right?"

Lionel was flabbergasted and didn't know what to say.

"Anyway," Harry continued on as he got up. "I'll be back in a bit. Hold the fort." He strolled out of the office, thinking about who he needed to speak with about the new furniture. If he were just a little bit better at Transfigurations, he would have transfigured his existing chair into something much comfier, but he wasn't any good at it, so he didn't even bother trying. It would be a lot simpler to just ask someone instead.

He was passing by the third floor when he heard commotion through the walls. Sounded like someone had gotten themselves into trouble with their superiors. In fact, it sounded a lot like how Robards yelled at his team. Well… Harry in particular. The shouts were music to his ears. Over the past two days, he had come across no shouting at all. He was starting to think that everyone in _this_ Ministry was perfect. He smiled slyly and decided to investigate.

He stepped onto the third floor landing and walked through the double doors.

"-AN IMBECILE TELLING ME HOW TO DO MY JOB! DO YOU _HONESTLY_ THINK YOU KNOW BETTER THAN ME?"

The hallway was a bit crowded but people walked past the shouting while keeping their head down so they wouldn't be tempted to stare. Harry didn't really care about being caught staring. Staring was nothing to be ashamed of. And this was just too awesome to miss.

Draco Malfoy was being shouted at!

That _never_ happened unless Severus was around. No one dared raise their voice at a Malfoy.

Harry watched from behind a rounded pillar, his brows raised and a surprised grin splitting his face. Draco looked like he was about to burst. He had seen that look often enough, especially when the Slytherins lost Quidditch matches. Malfoy threw tantrums all the time.

The man who was yelling was a short, stout, and balding office worker with a chubby, red neck and flushed cheeks. His arms were raised and he was shaking his hands with each forceful word being spat out of his mouth. He quite literally spat them out. Draco was flinching as spittle sprayed at him.

"TWENTY YEARS!" the man screamed. "I'VE WORKED TWENTY YEARS IN THIS OFFICE, YOU IGNORAMUS! I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH YOUR INSOLENCE!" His voice was getting so shrill, Harry was afraid he would end up keeling over and dying from a heart attack. "I AM WRITING YOU UP FOR THIS MESS! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH, YOU HEAR ME? GET OUT!"

Draco didn't have to be told twice. He spun around on his heel and stormed away furiously, shoving past anyone who stood in his path.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. Since when did Draco hold his tongue? Strange.

It was so strange, as it happens, that Harry decided to stealthily follow through the winding halls. The least he could do after watching the showdown was make fun of Draco. It was the _least_ he could do. Besides, he had another twenty-five minutes to kill. He took care to keep his distance, which was unnecessary since Draco didn't seem to even glance at his surroundings because of how angry he was. The crowd thinned as they got further inside the maze of cubicles and workers. Draco turned off into a row of rooms where all sorts of records were kept. He seemed to choose a door at random, throwing it open and then slamming it shut after walking in. Harry had never been in this place before. Recordkeeping was such a dull job. He wondered what Malfoy was doing down here in any case.

Taking a moment to prepare himself for some marvelous gloating, he breathed in deep and let it out before reaching for the doorknob and twisting it open.

He realized that he had made a terrible mistake the moment he clapped eyes on Draco's hunched back and heard muffled sobs.

He tried to shuffle out of the cluttered filing room but the back of his foot struck a box of parchments that had been precariously balanced. It tumbled to the ground loudly, jolting Draco into awareness.

He whipped around in disbelief, his expression contorting the moment he recognized Harry. "Potter," he muttered quietly. "What are you doing?"

"Um… There's nothing to cry about," Harry said.

Boy, was that the wrong thing to say…

Draco drew his wand out so fast that it was a blur. Harry barely had a chance to brace himself before the blow struck.

And then all he felt was pain in his chest and stomach and face, as though he had just rammed into a solid barrier. He was thrown off his feet and slammed against the door with enough force to splinter it. He ended up knocking into the opposite wall of the corridor before falling to the ground in an almost senseless heap. Nothing had ever hurt this bad. He blinked back the stars and couldn't hear anything but a sharp ringing in his head. There was dust, wood, plaster, and papers all around him. A whole lot of pain too.

Draco was frozen. He had expected Potter to curse him, hurt him… Stop him.

But he hadn't even drawn his wand.

With a quiet whimper, Draco fell to his knees. He could hear indistinct screams and shouts but nothing sounded louder than his own terrified thoughts. He had just attacked the Head Auror. He ducked his head as he trembled and clapped his hands to his ears. He could hear them screaming for the Medic. He could hear them screaming for the Dementors. He could hear them screaming at him. They were going to kill him. He didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He had just attacked Harry Potter.

He was jerked forward by the collar. He simply gave up at that moment. It didn't matter if he fought. It didn't matter if he cried or begged or prayed. He didn't matter.

"YOU BLOODY IDIOT! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?"

He didn't even blink when he was cuffed in the jaw. He slumped forward, sinking into welcome warmth as he fainted away.

* * *

Chase sidled towards Harry's desk with a nervous step. "Feeling better today?" he asked carefully.

Harry looked up with a blank stare for a moment before suddenly snapping to his senses. He smiled with ease and nodded. "Yes, thank you," he answered. "I think I just needed a day off."

Chase let out a sigh of relief when he saw the bright expression on his partner's face. "Man, you scared me," he exclaimed as he dragged a chair near and plopped down, as though he was exhausted. "When Sirius called up yesterday, I was _sure_ you had had a mental episode. I mean, you practically worked yourself to the bone the day before. Oh, and don't think Robards hasn't noticed." He winked. "You dug yourself into this hole, Harry. I don't think I'll be able to help you out if you keep this up."

"I suppose I could try and slack off," Harry offered lamely. "Don't want you to look bad."

"Oh, shut up. And nice glasses."

The Auror office in this world was so different. Harry was stunned by the lack of stringent rules as well as the significantly reduced staff size. Obviously threats were almost non-existent here. There was no Dark Lord, no army to fight, no fugitives to apprehend. It was a surreal life. He rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his palm while absently filling out some charge sheets. Everyone was alive, no one had nightmares, and nothing went wrong. How was that possible? He had never even thought of such a place before. Ever since he could remember, he had been surrounded by trouble. Now he was surrounded by so many people who cared for him.

No, that wasn't right. Even back in his world he was surround by the same people – people who cared so much about him. Some cared enough to die for him. That was a terrifying thought. It was a thought he carried with him all the time.

A puzzle he had yet to piece in was the mysterious appearance of Severus Snape. From what he could gather, Snape had been taking care of him for many years. How did Snape become his guardian? Because of his mother? Had Snape felt responsible and decided to take him in instead of letting him live with the Dursleys? He had so many questions.

A short whistle interrupted his train of thought.

He glanced up absently.

Draco stood at the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed at his chest.

Harry looked behind him to see if Malfoy could be asking for someone else. No one there. He turned his head to the right and left, searching. Once again, no one seemed to be paying any attention to the visitor. He finally looked back at Malfoy and mouthed, "Me?"

Draco rolled his eyes and stepped back while nodding. He disappeared from view as he walked out into the corridor.

Harry was perplexed. Why would Malfoy want to see him? He set his quill down and looked around once more. Apparently nothing was amiss in the eyes of the rest of the Aurors. That was strange. Did Malfoy visit often? He stood up gingerly and, after a bit of hesitation, weaved his way between the desks to get to the exit.

Draco was getting impatient by the second. "What's your problem?" he hissed irritably. "Come here." He grabbed Harry by the elbow and jerked him down the narrow hallway, all the way to the end where the break room was. It was empty considering it was still before lunch. Only after closing the door did he let go. He crossed his arms against his chest once again, scowling this time. "Uncle Sev expects me to _babysit_ you. What's that all about?" he demanded to know.

Harry was still coming to terms with the liberties Malfoy took with him. Things were _very_ different here. Then he realized that Snape was probably the reason for it. He was Malfoy's godfather, after all.

Draco stooped down suddenly to peer at Harry. "Have you finally gone mental, Potter?" he snapped.

Harry pulled away, startled by the closeness. "I'm fine," he muttered scathingly. "I don't need to be babysat."

"You know he won't worry unless he has a reason."

Harry realized that Draco was talking about Snape. "Then tell him I'm fine," he said.

Draco huffed. "Why won't _you_ tell him?" he retorted.

Because Harry wasn't planning on meeting Snape, that's why. He didn't say it, however. He pursed his lips into a thin line instead and continued glaring at Malfoy.

Draco clicked his tongue in exasperation. "So when he asks me how you're doing, I'll tell him you're fine?"

"Do that."

"Hmph. You aren't being weird because of what we talked about, are you?"

Harry had no idea what Draco was talking about. "No," he answered brusquely. "Your concern is entirely unwarranted." He decided to take the initiative. "Stop bothering me." He stalked out of the lunchroom without another word. He would be damned if he let Malfoy boss him around.

He plopped down at his seat and picked up his quill, wringing it between his fists. Instead of dealing with Malfoy and work, he would rather go back to Sirius' and spend time with him.

"Got into 'nother fight with Malfoy, did ya?"

He was startled as he looked over at the neighboring desk. Chrissy, the newest addition to the Auror team, was wiggling her eyebrows at him while smacking on her bubblegum with a cheeky grin. "What?" he asked weakly.

"Nah, 's jus' tha' you're always so grumpy, ya know? When ya fight with 'im and all. He gets on everyone's nerves, eh?"

"Um…"

"Never mind that." She waved it off without a second thought. "Can I borrow your Firebolt? Not much use sittin' around in a cabinet lookin' pretty, am I right?"

Chase lobbed a balled up piece of paper expertly at her head from all the way across the room. "Give him a break, kid," he drawled. He had evidently been listening in.

"Just askin'," she exclaimed. "No harm in askin'. Not a crime or nothin'."

"Stop asking if you already know the answer," he growled.

Chrissy pouted at Harry and he smiled awkwardly while shrugging. He had no clue what was going on.

* * *

Draco woke up fully expecting to find himself in a dank jail cell. Instead he was in a hospital ward, partitioned off from the beds on either side of him by white curtains. He also woke up to Harry Potter scowling at him by the foot of his bed. The Head Auror had a bandage wrapped around his head, his left arm in a sling, and a tensor around his right hand. Draco couldn't be sure what had happened, but he knew he had something to do with it. He was resigned to that fact. What perplexed him was why he wasn't being arrested.

He closed his eyes and turned onto his side.

"Don't ignore me."

He must be dreaming. He heard Harry stomp over to the side of the bed stubbornly. Strange things like that only happened in his dreams.

For the past seven years, he had been all but invisible. No one cared about what he did as long as he was on time for mandatory work and didn't mess up. But, over the past two days, Harry Potter had been paying him more attention than anyone else had since the war ended. And now he had assaulted the man. Even that didn't make him go away. He just wanted Potter to leave him alone. He wanted everyone to leave him alone.

Harry smacked him over the head.

Draco sat upright in an instant and swung his fist.

"Stop that," Harry muttered angrily while sidestepping the clumsy punch.

"I can do what I want," Draco croaked. He took another swing at Harry, missing entirely because of the tears blinding him. "I can do what I want."

"You know better. You can't hit me, Draco."

"I don't care."

"You looked like you cared a lot back at the office."

Draco struggled to keep his composure. He didn't know what he thought anymore. He just wanted it to be over.

"Huh?"

He looked up at Harry reflexively.

Harry pursed his lips upon seeing Draco's bloodshot eyes. "You just want it to be over?" he repeated.

Draco hadn't realized that he had said it out loud.

"So you figured if you hexed me, it would be over?" Harry argued in disbelief. "That's the _stupidest_ thing I've ever-"

"I thought you would kill me."

He trailed off into nonsense. He couldn't have possibly heard right.

"I thought you'd try to kill me like that time…"

"Are you serious?" Harry hissed. "_Kill_ you? Are you _fucking_ serious? You've _got_ to be joking. _Please_ tell me you're joking."

"I DON'T CARE!" Draco shouted angrily while wiping his tears away. "I don't _care_ what happens to me." He trained his furious eyes at Harry. "I don't care if you kill me, understand?"

Harry grabbed the small black pouch off the bedside table and chucked it at Draco's head. He flinched back before it could hit him and caught it in bewilderment. "I don't care either," Harry snapped. Then he stalked away. See if he was ever going to be nice to that brat again.

After blinking out of his reverie, Draco looked down at the thin pouch. He opened it as curiosity got the better of him.

Inside was a handful of Bertie Bott's Beans, just the green and yellow ones. Green apple and lemon. Those were his favorite flavors…

* * *

Harry walked into the Head Auror's office, feeling intense déjà vu the moment he clapped eyes on Robards. He hadn't worked under the man in years. Robards was seated on the sofa with a stack of papers sitting on one side of him and a folder open on his lap that he was scanning absently. "Sit down, Potter," he said without looking up. Harry complied, walking over to the Head Auror and taking a seat opposite him on the chair, a low coffee table separating them. "I trust the holidays were pleasant for you," Robards murmured.

"Yes, sir."

He glanced up in mild surprise. "Oh? No elaborate stories this time?" he noted.

Harry nearly didn't understand, but he caught himself before he could say anything incriminating. "Ah… Um… N-no. No stories," he faltered. Why would he be telling Robards stories?

"Do you know what I have here?" The Head Auror gestured at the bundle of parchments to his right. Harry tried to read it from where he sat, but he couldn't make out the words, so he shook his head. "Some of the cases you've closed," Robards said. He picked up the first sheaf, leafing through it. "Hardly elegant, but you do get the job done."

"Thank you, sir."

"That isn't a compliment, Harry," Robards smiled dryly. He looked up at his subordinate for a brief moment before continuing on. "You have been working here for six years. Don't you think it is high time you realized that finesse is a big part of our job? Anyone can make a mess and put the bad guys away. But we, as a department, have to maintain a modicum of decorum while doing so. It's always been a struggle with you. I know you are aware of this."

Harry was shocked. Was the other Harry _that_ awful at following protocol? Robards was making it sound like he was still a child. "I… I'm…" He didn't know how to respond to that.

"I'm retiring soon, Harry."

"Ah…"

"And I have been considering giving you my job."

"Oh…"

"But you make it _so_ difficult," Robards sighed. He sat back and massaged his forehead. "You see, every time I think of leaving, I get nightmares about what you would do to this department. It would be chaos. Just… utter chaos."

If that was so, then maybe he wasn't the right candidate for the job. "You could choose someone else, sir," Harry offered as a solution. "If you are… I mean, if you don't trust me to… I'm… Um." He stopped because Robards was looking at him strangely now. He must have said something stupid.

"You would be alright with that?" the Head Auror asked in disbelief. "If I chose someone else?"

"I… I can come to terms with it, yes," Harry clarified. "I trust your judgment."

"I didn't expect this from you."

"What were you expecting, sir?"

"A loud outburst, to be frank," Robards chuckled. "Well, this is certainly a pleasant surprise."

* * *

Harry sat sullenly in yet another uncomfortable chair. This time he was sitting opposite the Minister of Magic who was behind a large, important looking desk. And boy, was he in trouble. He didn't like being in trouble. Usually when he got into trouble, he would have to answer to Robards. Unfortunately, now that _he_ was in Robards' position, he had only one person to answer to – the Minister.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had his elbows on the table and his fingers tented together under his chin as he examined Harry's less than optimal appearance, all tied up in gauze and bandages. It wasn't often that the Head Auror found himself in such a situation. Kingsley let out a quiet sigh of disappointment and shook his head. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked quietly.

Harry didn't know. He was getting _really_ pissed off the longer he spent in the Minister's office. He kept his eyes on his lap and his brows knitted together.

Kingsley wasn't surprised to hear a lack of argument from Harry. "It was clearly assault," he continued. "You really do need to press charges."

Harry couldn't do that. Especially not after finding out about the Malfoy families role in the Second Wizarding War. "What does Malfoy's contract entail?" he murmured.

Kingsley had the paper right in front of him. He glanced down and said, "He is on probation and, until he has paid off his debt, he will continue to work for the Ministry under supervision of a probation officer." He looked up to find a sour expression on Harry's face. That was surprising. "It's better than Azkaban, Harry," he gently reminded the Auror.

"I know," Harry all but snapped. "But it's already been seven years. How much longer do you-"

"You aren't thinking of asking me to let him go, are you?" Kingsley interjected.

"Yes, I am."

The Minister exhaled loudly. "That's just cruel," he muttered.

Now Harry looked up in astonishment. "Cruel?" he exclaimed. "_I'm_ being cruel? He had a nervous breakdown, sir! Pardon my language but, if you don't let him go, he's only going to get more fucked up."

Kingsley hid his shock well. He sat back in his chair and shook his head once again. "What will he do if he is terminated? Who do you think would hire an ex-Death Eater?" He saw Harry flinch, which was another unexpected reaction. "I'm being blunt, I know," he conceded. "But the wages he earns here is what keeps him stable. Rehabilitating ex-convicts is one of our duties as a Ministry. He would be ostracized if he were let go. Imagine being fired from the system that tried to help him. Tell me that's not cruel."

Harry couldn't say it. He hadn't realized all this. This world was so different. Everyone was scared, even after the war had ended. So where did that leave Draco? "Where does Malfoy work now?" he asked after clearing his throat.

"Public Information Services. He keeps the records, updates files, the like."

Such a dry job. No wonder he was going out of his mind. The Draco Harry knew did not like to remain stagnant. He needed to grow, learn new things, accomplish tasks, and most importantly, get raises. If there were anything that would keep Draco motivated, it would be money and status. "Could I… I mean, isn't there anything that can be done?"

Kingsley was having a very hard time understanding Harry at that moment. "What are you doing?" he prodded. "How many chances are you going to give him?"

"But what if I promise that he won't do something like that again? I can make sure of it," Harry assured the Minister. "There will be no more trouble."

"Don't you have enough projects underway?"

"I have time for one more."

* * *

Harry ventured into the small flat nervously. Pitter-patter of hurried paws on the floor welcomed him. Scout raced down the foyer, tail wagging and ears flopping wildly. Harry couldn't help but smile as he bent down and let the dog nuzzle him. He wasn't used to pets, not since Hedwig. He pushed the sad memories away stubbornly. "Want some food?" he asked Scout. A soft whine was all the answer he needed.

The kitchen was easy enough to find, and dog food sat on one corner of the counter. Once he had poured some of the dry kibble into a dog dish, he set it on the floor for Scout who ate ravenously. Then he decided to explore 'his' home.

There were photographs everywhere. That was the first thing he noticed. There were sentimental clutter and pictures adorning the walls and shelves. A holiday tree still stood in the living room. The dining table was messy with newspapers and half-finished letters. The bedroom was small with an unmade bed, an overflowing closet, and another bookshelf. The bathroom was a disgrace. This was definitely a place for Harry Potter. He felt right at home in all this mess.

There was a photograph in the alit corridor leading into those rooms. It caught his eye for a reason that wasn't apparent until he looked closer.

He looked to be around eleven or twelve in the picture. He was in his Hogwarts uniform. Gryffindor. His hair was a miserable disaster, his glasses were crooked, and he was beaming happily with his arm thrown over Draco Malfoy.

"Oh," he exhaled in confusion.

Malfoy was looking off to the side, evidently telling someone off by the way his brows were pulled together. He didn't seem to realize that his picture was being taken, not until Harry had poked him in the stomach. Then he jumped, his scowl growing fiercer for just a second before he noticed the camera that was pointed at them. His expression smoothed over in the blink of an eye. He looped an arm around Harry's waist and waved while smiling.

"Weird…"


	8. The One With New Memories

Severus kept on stirring the potion while letting his godson stew near him without paying any heed. He often wondered how his life had gained so many more actors, but then he knew it was all thanks to Dumbledore's plan that had taken hold nearly twenty years ago. His home, which used to a haven for him, hadn't been a very private place for a while now. Apparently even Draco saw it fit to simply waltz in and relay his annoyances to the only other person who would listen to him whine.

"You were the one who asked me to check up on him," the young Malfoy muttered under his breath.

"I simply asked you to keep an eye out," Severus recalled. "You went looking for a confrontation. Just like your father."

Draco made a disparaging sound by clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Finding faults in me isn't going to help," he growled.

"But I do hope it will help you think before you act."

"You sound just like Mother."

"She has sense in her."

"Look," Draco said with finality. "We are talking about Potter. Not me. And no, I _don't_ think anything is wrong with him. He is as juvenile as ever. I don't even care." He started pacing around the cauldron angrily.

Severus rolled his eyes. "If you don't care, why are you here?"

Draco spun around to glare at his godfather. "I don't care," he bit out once again. "I just wanted to know what _you_ think is wrong with him."

Severus couldn't be sure. "I simply wanted to see if he had gotten better," he said carelessly. "Is that anything to read into?"

"Did you know he's going to be made Head Auror?"

The professor stilled. "Harry?"

"He didn't tell you?"

He looked up at Draco, frowning. "When was it announced?" he wanted to know.

"It hasn't been announced yet," Draco explained. "There are a lot of rumors going around. I think he's the only one who didn't know about it. I was talking to him about it two days ago. He became quite strange. I thought he would have talked to you. He was a little terrified by the idea."

"I see…"

"He didn't say anything at all?"

Now Severus glared at Draco's gloating expression. "Do you expect me to keep answering your imbecilic questions?" he drawled.

"No. Not at all," Draco smirked. "Maybe there really is something wrong with him then."

* * *

Harry sat on the couch, having finished his dinner and now contemplating on his next course of action. He picked at the bandage on his arm. This wasn't fair. He had already gotten hurt four days ago. This wasn't even his real life! Why did he get hurt again? Was trouble attracted to him or something? He scowled at his healing arm. Stupid Malfoy.

Usually, when Harry got hurt, he would turn to Severus first. The professor could make anything hurt less with his potions. But Severus wasn't here. It pained him to think about that – not because he missed his professor, but because he felt so much pity for the other Harry who had no family at all. Sirius wasn't here either. Sirius would have eagerly taken him in after seeing him wrapped up in bandages. Remus would have helped him take his mind off of things. He didn't want to impose on the Molly and Arthur since they were probably still recovering from all the Christmas festivities. To make matters worse, he didn't even have a good relationship with his Auror team to ask for _their_ support. He had yet to meet them all since he arrived in this parallel universe.

Who was he supposed to complain to? He missed Scout so much.

The doorbell rang.

He jumped up off the couch and ran to the front door. He was succumbing to cabin fever. Any visitor would do at the moment.

He threw the door open.

"For Merlin's sake!" Ron snapped without losing a moment. "You couldn't have let us know? What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any-"

"I had to find out from my coworkers," Hermione blurted out over her husband's admonishment. "Why wouldn't you tell us? Can you imagine how-"

"Mum is practically blowing a fuse. Look, I know you don't want to worry us and all, but keeping things like this from us is a bloody-"

"Then I heard you aren't going to press charges! Have you gone _insane_, Harry? Malfoy _attacked_ you and you're just-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Harry quickly stammered to stop the onslaught. "I-I'm sorry." _This_ never happened when he got hurt all those times before. Usually everyone just laughed at him or shook their head in disappointment. But no one got upset except for Severus. Ron and Hermione looked genuinely panicked at the moment. "It's nothing. Really. It's just a lot of bandages and things," he insisted. "A-and I didn't think you'd worry… like this…" He trailed off when he saw their agape expressions.

"_What_?" Hermione exclaimed. "Why _wouldn't_ we be worried?"

"You didn't even call us from St. Mungo's!" Ron carried on heatedly. "I've had enough, Harry! You have _no_ regard for how we feel and it's gone on for long enough!"

"Don't keep pushing us away."

"What did we do? At least tell us if we did something wrong."

"You'll only end up hurting us."

"Stop it, Mummy," Rose mumbled from behind Hermione's leg. "You're making Uncle Harry sad."

"Yeah," Hugo echoed. "Stop it."

Harry forced down the lump in his throat. Why was everyone so unhappy here? He took an uncertain step backwards. "Y-you guys should come in. It's cold outside," he said. "I'll put the kettle on." He hurried out of the foyer without waiting for an answer.

Only when he got to the kitchen did he stop to dry his eyes. If he were to meet the other Harry right now, he would probably kick the daylights out of him. What right did the other Harry have to make people unhappy? He struggled to get his wand out of his pocket and brushed his fist against his eyes again while sniffing. This was the worst day ever. He managed to fill up the kettle and put it on the heating stove. He had been stupid too. He had been so caught up in Malfoy's plight that he had almost forgotten about his own situation. He hadn't meant to worry anyone. He just hadn't known that anyone _would_ worry so much…

The door behind him slowly opened, prompting him to wipe his cheeks once more.

"Uncle Harry?"

He glanced back at Hugo and Rose in dismay. "Hey, guys," he mumbled. They looked concerned too, and they were just children. "It's okay." He gestured for them to come in. They complied shyly, looking at each other to make sure they were doing the same thing. Harry took a moment to push aside his misgivings before smiling at them and kneeling down. "I'm so glad you stopped by," he said sincerely. He gave them a quick one-armed hug. "I'm really okay. Don't I look okay?"

Hugo kissed Harry's cheek. "I don't like ouchies," he said.

Rose rested a kind hand over the sling draped across Harry's shoulder and neck. "Did it break?" she asked.

"It all happened so fast, you see," Harry explained to them. "It was just an accident. I got potions from the hospital and everything. They fixed me up so there's nothing to worry about anymore." He poked his arm to show them. They squealed in unison when he did that. "No, really," he assured them. "Touch it."

"No way!" Rose crowed. "That's gross!"

"Gross!" Hugo grinned while jabbing at Harry's numb and bound up appendage.

"I know, right?" Harry was glad to see them calm down. "It's no big deal. I'm used to getting hurt. I'm a big boy, right?"

"Right," the children agreed.

"Although…" He pressed a finger to lips and leaned in. "I'm in _big_ trouble, aren't I?" he whispered. A sly smile was exchanged between the siblings. "Ah, that sucks," he grumbled. "It's not even my fault. I mean, it's only a _little_ bit my fault. I was an unfortunate bystander, you see. Well… I was the _only_ bystander… But you know what I mean."

"We don't," Rose giggled.

The kettle started whistling, startling the three of them. "Eep! That scared me!" Hugo squeaked.

"Me too," Harry said as he got up to his feet and picked up the kettle to put it aside. "You guys want some tea?"

"We don't drink tea," Rose told him.

"Too bad."

A few minutes later, Harry had managed to make three cups of tea and two mugs of hot chocolate. The kids carried the mugs carefully while he floated the cups ahead of them through the dining room and into the living room where Ron and Hermione stopped having their quiet conversation abruptly. They tried to wipe off their guilty looks as the beverages were carefully set on the coffee table. The children plopped down in front of their hot chocolate so they could start drinking at once. They decided to let the grown ups talk for a little while.

Harry cleared his throat and waved his hand in an awkward motion, prompting the couple to take a seat on the couch while he took the chair opposite them, cradling the white cup against his chest.

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. Since neither of them wanted to be the first one to talk, they reached for their tea simultaneously. They took a quick sip, which only lengthened the uncomfortable silence.

Hermione suddenly frowned. "Hmm." She pulled back to examine at her tea, appearing very confused.

"Oh," Harry noticed and started to get up. "Did you want more sugar? I thought you-"

"No, no," she interjected rapidly. "It's fine, Harry. I just… never realized you knew how I took my tea, that's all."

Ron stilled when he heard that and frowned as well while peering into his cup. "Oh yeah," he murmured. "It's quite good…"

"Uh… Thanks," Harry stuttered. He should have just brought the cream and sugar out. He was so used to doing things his way that he forgot his way wasn't the other Harry's way. "And, um, I'm sorry again," he added sheepishly. "I didn't mean to-"

"We should be the ones apologizing," Hermione insisted without letting him finish. "You must have felt so bad. I mean, on top of everything you went through today… _We're_ sorry, okay? It's just… We were scared and we didn't know what was going on. We couldn't reach you. We didn't mean to upset you. You know we wouldn't do that, right?"

"Of course I know," Harry assured them with big nods of his head. "I know that. I know you're only concerned about me. It's nothing to apologize about. I should have called. I should have let you guys know. It's just that… I mean…" He wanted to say it wasn't a big deal, but he didn't want them to blow up again.

"It's not a big deal, right?" Ron said after arching a brow sardonically. "Isn't that what you were going to say?"

Harry blushed. "Um…"

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "When will you learn? It's always a big deal with us."

"Yeah, but-"

"And what's this about you not filing assault charges against Malfoy?" she slipped in.

"That's a long story and you-"

"He could have _killed_ you," Ron blustered. "It's not like you provoked him, right?"

"Well, you see, he sort of overreacted to-"

"Why are you making excuses for him?" Hermione wanted to know. "He's had his chances. _Anyone_ who assaults an Auror, _especially_ the Head Auror, doesn't get off scot-free."

"_Listen_ to me," Harry said over their words. "Just _listen_."

They quieted down reluctantly.

He exhaled. "Now just listen, okay?" he said. "It wasn't entirely unprovoked. I didn't physically provoke him, but he wasn't emotionally stable when he lashed out. He's had a nervous breakdown, wasn't thinking properly. Do you honestly think he would try to hurt me in broad daylight? Besides, I _can't_ charge him because I p-um… because… er, of reasons…"

They blinked at him.

"Yeah," he mumbled while shifting in his seat. "That is all I have to say about that…"

"What did you do?" Hermione asked deliberately.

"I didn't do anything."

"Harry."

"Why would I do anything?"

"Why can't you write Malfoy up?"

"Um…"

"Harry James Pot-"

"It was self-defense!" he spewed out.

Ron and Hermione sat back. "What was self-defense?" they asked in unison.

"Uh, nothing."

"You _retaliated_?" Hermione gasped when she suddenly caught on.

"What?" Ron sputtered. "You hexed him _back_?"

"I-I didn't _hex_ him," Harry struggled to say. He had to get the story straight. "I just punched him… a little…"

"Punched him a little?" Hermione echoed weakly.

"Yeah…"

They stared at him in incredulity.

He dropped his gaze to the warm tea in his hand so he wouldn't have to meet their looks. He was embarrassed. He had punched Draco out of pure impulse. The worst part was that no one _knew_ that he had hit Draco. He doubted even _Draco_ knew why his cheek was so sore. How could he, in good conscience, charge Malfoy with assault when he had done the same?

Ron snickered.

Harry looked up in time to see Hermione swat her husband over the head, which only prompted the redhead to laugh harder behind his hand. "It's not funny," she hissed at him. He started cackling and nodding. It wasn't long before the children joined their father, not knowing what had happened. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose as her family soon dissolved into laughter.

Harry flicked his eyes between them in confusion. Had he said something funny? Was punching Draco funny now?

"I guess that makes it three," Ron cracked up.

"Three?" Harry repeated.

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione muttered under her breath. "This is serious."

He would have none of it. "Oh, come on," he stressed. "First you, then me, and now _Harry's_ finally done it! Isn't that the funniest thing ever? Not like he doesn't deserve it!"

Harry's eyes widened. Was Ron suggesting that all _three_ of them had sucker punched Draco? How? When? Why? So many questions that he had to bite his tongue to keep from asking out loud. He quickly rearranged his expression. "Y-yeah. Not funny, Ron," he said.

"Man, you two have _completely_ lost your sense of humor," Ron wheezed. "Sheesh."

"Oh, grow up," Hermione huffed.

"Sheesh, Mum!" Rose and Hugo bellowed.

* * *

"Oh my goodness, congratulations!" Hermione gasped in amazement. "Goodness, Harry!"

"Head Auror! Are they nuts?" Ron chuckled. "Try not to get yourself killed, will you?"

Harry managed a wary smile. Was the other Harry truly such an unlikely candidate for a more superior position at work? "It's not announced yet," he told them. "I just wanted you guys to know first."

"It's incredible news," Hermione gushed. "You're going to do so well. You haven't told your team yet?"

"No."

"What did Professor Snape say?"

When they were met with strained silence, Ron tilted his head as his brows knit together. "Wait… You _really_ haven't told anyone yet?" he asked.

"No."

"_Why_?"

Harry swallowed and fumbled with the fork in his hand. "Well, it's… I'm… not sure if I'm the best person to take over. The way Robards talked about it… I don't know. I'm just not sure."

"Since when have you turned down offers like this, Harry?" Hermione urged lightly. "You would be a great Head Auror. I'm sure your team will agree without a doubt. Everyone loves you. What's to worry about, hmm? You should tell Professor. I think he would be _very_ proud of you."

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "Don't even _think_ about backing out of this opportunity. What's the worst that could happen?"

Harry would rather not think of worst-case scenarios.

"You should be celebrating!" Hermione insisted. "Why are you moping around? After dinner, we'll go visit Sirius." She laughed. "Can you imagine how excited he's going to be?"

"Hmm."

* * *

Draco pretended not to notice Lionel's intense stare by opening up the well-read letter in his hand. He practically knew the contents by heart. He no longer worked in the Public Information offices. He had been written up for insubordinate behavior, poor work ethic, and shoddy work. He wasn't surprised. He hated every single hour he spent in the silent filing room sorting through forms and chronologically arranging documents. Three years of that. It was a wonder he was still sane.

He paused.

Maybe he wasn't so sane after all. He had attacked the Head Auror. Then the Head Auror had given him sweets.

The rest of the letter was a direct order from the Minister that read that he had to come to speak with Potter at eight today. It was now fifteen minutes past eight. His knee started to shake once again as his nerves caught up with him. What would happen now? He had many questions that he couldn't ask. He had to do as he was told according to his parole officer. How this was any better than Azkaban, he couldn't be sure at that moment.

The door burst open without warning, startling the two men in the outer office. Harry came rushing in saying, "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I slept in." He would have bee lined it to his office too if he hadn't noticed Draco waiting. He stumbled to an abrupt halt, blinking in confusion for just a second. Then he gasped when he suddenly remembered. "Oh, crap!" He smacked his hand against his forehead as he spun around to face his assistant. "Could you _please_ free me up until nine? Please?" he begged.

"Uh, um, y-you're already freed up…"

"Ah! Great!" He waved at Draco. "Let's go in then." He continued to his office rapidly.

Draco stared after the Head Auror in amazement. Something was seriously wrong with Potter. He gingerly got up to his feet and frowned at Lionel. "Is he alright?" he asked.

Lionel shrugged. "He's been _very_ _strange_ lately," he answered in a conspiring whisper.

"I see…"

Harry was pulling out a white folder from the mess on his desk when Draco walked in. "You can sit down," he said. Draco complied, moving towards the back of the room and taking a seat opposite the Head Auror. Harry yawned behind his hand while flipping through the contents of the folder. There was silence for a minute, the only sound in the room being the rustle of parchment and ticking from a grandfather clock. Draco's knee was beginning to shake once again.

But Harry eventually looked up at him. "So?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

"How are you?"

Draco couldn't place the uneasiness he was feeling. Potter was trying to placate him. Why? "Fine," he answered.

"Did you eat the jellybeans?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I thought you had poisoned them."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it with a loud smack before looking away thoughtfully, contemplating Draco's words. "Why didn't I think of that?" he murmured under his breath. Draco frowned in confusion. Harry quickly snapped out of his reverie and looked at the papers in front of him. "Anyway, you're working for me now. Is that alright?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Then I am alright with it," Draco said drily.

Harry smirked as he picked up a quill off the desk and signed the bottom of a form. He handed the parchment to Draco. "You need to sign there." He indicated a space beside his own signature. As Draco signed his life away, the Auror added, "This says that I'm your supervisor now." Draco didn't bother acknowledging that. He simply set the quill back on the desk and pushed the paper away. Harry placed the contract in the folder. As he dated it, he said, "You can start by getting me a cup of coffee. Two cream, two sugar."

Draco cocked a brow and glared at Harry.

The Head Auror flicked his eyes up. "Was that distasteful?" His smile widened.

"Very."

"I'm your boss."

Draco _did_ know that. He had just signed the paper. But for some reason, that wasn't stopping him. Perhaps it was the recent breakdown he had experienced. Or maybe it was remnants of his last chat with Potter. It could also be because, at that moment, Potter was speaking to him like he mattered… "You haven't spoken to me in years," he said. "Do you plan on humiliating me? Because there isn't anything anyone can do to push me any lower."

Harry's smile faded. "Well, if you put it _that_ way…"

"Do you feel sorry for me?"

Of course. Harry had many reasons to feel sorry for what happened. He had seen what Draco Malfoy could have been. The man had potential. He also knew that circumstances had caused many lives to end up in this very abysmal rut of a world. How could he not feel sorry for Malfoy? "You were crying," he jibed. "I'm not a cold-hearted bastard. Tears are my soft spot."

Draco bristled. "Fine." He couldn't be bothered to argue. "What do you need me to do here?"

Harry sat back with a scheming glint in his eye. "You can start by telling me why Collins was yelling at you." He rested his elbows on the plush armrests of his brand new chair and interlocked his fingers very officially. "You know, for posterity."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"How often do you try to murder other people?"

"…What?"

"Do you think _I_ could make you cry?"

He brought his hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose instead of answering that.

"Don't you like green and yellow jellybeans?"

"Potter…"

"Do you feel bad for throwing it away?"

"No."

"If I started yelling at you right now, what would you do?"

Draco realized that it was going to a _very_ long day.

"I think you should feel bad for thinking that I tried to poison you."

He tilted his head up and closed his eyes in exhaustion, letting Potter continue without him.

* * *

Harry lay in bed, holding in his hands a bunch of photographs that he had managed to dig out of a box of old junk in the closet. He scanned each of them carefully. Most of them had him in it – in front of the Great Hall, at Auror training camp, in his apartment, at a non-descript park. And, with him were people he had never dreamed of seeing again – Sirius, Remus and his family, old friends from school… There was such happiness in their lives. It made his stomach churn. He hated being taunted like his, reminded for days of what could have been. He had to figure out what was happening. He had to feel sane again.

Scout crawled up to him and curled up by his chest, keeping him warm. He tilted his head to the side, resting his cheek against the dog's head. Did he want to go back to his old life?

He closed his eyes. He spent every night in his dreams. He spent almost every waking hour at work. That wasn't what he had wished for when he was younger, before the war. He hadn't wished for the scars or the pain or the tears. He had wanted _this_. He had wanted these photographs. He had wanted a normal life filled with people he cared about. Instead he lived through sleepless nights and work-consumed days.

And speaking of work… He should probably be getting ready.


End file.
